The Lets Read Podcast - 229: MY UberEATS DRIVER TRIED TO BREAK IN | 30 True Scary Stories | EP 217

Episode Date: March 5, 2024

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about Walking Home Alone, Jogging, & UberEATS... HAVE A STORY TO SUBMIT?► www.Reddit.com/r/LetsReadOfficial FOLLOW ME ON - ►YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/c/letsreadofficial ► Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/letsread.official/ ► Twitter - https://twitter.com/LetsRead ♫ Background Music & Audio Remastering: INEKT https://www.instagram.com/_inekt/

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my usual laps, determined not to lose any of the progress that I'd made. But as it turned out, so was everyone else. The park was way busier than usual and I swear that at least half the people there were jogging. But one of the things that really stood out to me was just how gassed people look. A lot of them were obviously brand new runners and were getting back into it after a period of time off because there was a lot of coughing, spluttering, and leaning up against trees and all that kind of stuff. I've got a bit of a weird habit of cheering people on when I see them like that. It happened to me when I first started, just some random old men on a walk through the park who told

me, don't give up son. And it gave me this massive boost, and I know some people find it a bit irritating, but I think it's a net positive. Anyway, I'm basically having the time of my life, cheering people on, generally getting inspired by all the people trying to make a change and better themselves, and it was just great vibes. Then the next thing I know, I'm rounding this blind bend, covered up by this big evergreen bush of some kind, and I see someone just lying on the pavement in front of me, eyes closed and just completely still. I stopped dead in my tracks, literally stunned by what I was looking at. There was a second where I thought the guy was just talking the mickey as they say and that my call of are

you alright mate would be met with some bantering reply or something, but there was nothing. The guy stayed completely still, eyes closed, totally unresponsive. I went into full-on panic mode, forgot every bit of CPR training I'd ever been taught, and instead just stood over the guy shouting, hello, can you hear me? Open your eyes. When he didn't respond, I called 999, and as I was giving the operator all the details, a few more people came around the bend and started helping out. It was a big relief to have the other people on the scene, but it definitely got a bit chaotic too. Some were suggesting that they put the guy into the recovery position, while others were rightfully stopping that and saying not to move him because his airway seemed clear.

I kept passing information back and forth between the operator and the other people tending to the unconscious man, so, like I said, it was all very chaotic and stressful, with lots of people trying to talk over each other all at once. And even through the den, I heard it when some panicked woman's voice called out, I can't feel his pulse. I don't think he's got a pulse. Luckily, someone had showed up who actually knew CPR and started working on the bloke after clearing some room. Seeing the CPR man actually do chest compressions sent people over the edge. It's been mad up until that point as it was, but I don't think people realized just how serious the situation was until the chest compression started. People started walking away, covering their eyes. The woman, who'd noticed the lack of pulse,

burst into tears. It was extremely difficult to watch and I found myself having to turn away in order to keep a steady thought in my head because I was still on the phone with the operator at that point. Moments later, I heard the ambulance sirens so I hung up the call to help guide them in. After that there was nothing that we could do but watch and the absolute last thing I wanted to do was to help turn some guy's final moments into a freaking spectacle. The last thing I saw were the paramedics loading the guy onto a stretcher and into the back of the ambulance. I have no idea what happened to him after that.

In the days after I kept checking google and local news websites for any sign of the ambulance. I have no idea what happened to him after that. In the days after, I kept checking Google and local news websites for any sign of the collapsed runner, but I didn't see anything. This happened in Sefton Park in Liverpool, by the way, on New Year's Day of 2020, so if anyone happens to be able to dig up the story, I'd be really appreciative if you could leave a link in the comments or something. The guy has a shaven head but then a bit of a ginger beard and I think he was in his early to mid-twenties. I'll have to look myself after I send this and I know some of you are probably thinking, why didn't you check

before you even started this? Well, the thing is, I haven't been able to bring myself to. I've thought about that little incident many times over the years and I've run past the same spot countless times since, but I'm never being able to bring myself to sit down and just google it again. I know why that is too. I'm not going to pretend my own mind is a mystery to me and some hacky attempt at dramatic ambiguity. I haven't googled it because if the guy died, I know it'll horribly upset me and this selfish sense of self-preservation just keeps me from doing it. That runner probably left his house or flat that day wanting to make a change for the better. 2020 could have been his year, but instead,

he might not have survived the first day of it. The fact that was his reality, even if he did survive, it just makes you realize how lucky the rest of us are, who make it through our daily lives without some unforeseen medical disaster occurring. Anyways, I've rambled long enough, I think, so let me get to the point. If you're thinking about beginning a fitness routine this year, please, there's no shame in taking things nice and slow to start with. Wrap up warm, take a water bottle with you and go at your own speed, no one else's. Running buddies are a great idea and if you can find one you're level even better. But lots of experienced runners won't mind slowing down a bit just for the sake of helping you level

up and learn a thing or two. And trust me, some of us would welcome the break. Just don't be that bloke that I found that morning, lying cold and alone with no one to help him at first but some gobsmacked runner who barely had a clue what to do. I've been an amateur runner for coming up on 10 years now. I say amateur, and I mean amateur. I suck at it, but the benefits to my life have been immeasurable. Thankfully for you, I'm not about to shoot off at the mouth about how great running is. That's not the point of this story. The point is that instead of going to the likes of the common, where all the cool kids run, I run along west to east and back again along the Charles and I run it at night too.

I have kind of a weird job which we better not get into right now but it means one of the only periods of the day where I can actually fit a workout in is relatively late at night. Anywhere from between 8pm and midnight is my prime workout time and unfortunately that time slot has gotten me into trouble on more than one occasion. Surprisingly, jogging at night doesn't make you quite the target you think it would. The later you run, the crazier people assume you are and I've had some bad hombres move out of my way after thinking, who is this crazy old SOB? But on one or two occasions, little groups of wayward ruffians have tried to put a stop on my evening exercise, and one time, I almost didn't walk away. Thankfully, the intervention of a kind

stranger meant I did get to walk, or rather jog away, but I soon discovered that this stranger was anything but benevolent. So, picture the scene. It's about 10.30 at night on a beautiful New England summer's eve and yours truly is sweating balls while approaching that outdoor gym near the university. I make it past the gym only to see a group of young hoodlums having planted themselves firmly in my path. Now like I said, a lot of the time they'll just move out of your way, either out of respect or out of caution. But these kids seem to have had a very bad day, and wanted nothing more than to blow off a little steam by bullying a defenseless old man. They blocked my path, started throwing all kinds of jokes and insults my way, and as much as I want to just tell them where to go, I know that'll only make the situation worse.

So instead of a harsher tact, I'm saying mega cliched stuff like, I don't want any trouble guys, I'm just working out. Be a pal, come on, don't mess up my times. They're having none of it, making all kinds of rude comments while one straight up threatens to take my wireless headphone off of me. They cost me a couple of hundred bucks, so I definitely wasn't the biggest fan of that idea, but as the situation got more and more tense, I started to wonder if I shouldn't just toss them and run to save myself from getting my butt whooped. Then, right as I'm thinking things are about to get hairy,

some total stranger steps in and diverts the attention away from me. He starts calling them a word for coward that begins with P, telling them to pick on someone their own size. He seemed either very drunk or very confident of himself, and within less than a minute, the attention of my potential attackers was drawn solely to him. It seemed like something of a miracle in the moment, and I'm not sure the guy even knew what he was doing. By that I mean I don't think that he jumped in to rescue me. I legitimately think that he just wanted to fight somebody. Now, anyone who buys into the Beantown stereotype might tell you that describes about half the population of Southie, but that's not strictly true. But at the same time, I've never lived

anywhere where confrontations turn to violence with such a frightening speed. I watched as this guy drew all the attention away from me, to the point where when I did finally put some distance between us, the group didn't even notice. The last I saw was a little bit of shoving, but I turned my back and started jogging away again as soon as things got worse. To me, as soon as the guys that had stopped me were done with the crazy boxer dude, they were going to turn back to me again. It sure as hell made for some great motivation and I remember laughing a little as the nice lady voice in my running app told me, you hit a new speed record, keep it up. I ran for a little longer, walked for a while, then jogged again, until I finally reached the spot that I normally took a rest at.

I walked across the street to a little place where I knew the bartender, got myself a glass of water and some peanuts for energy, then killed maybe half an hour watching just random sports highlights. The idea was to kill enough time that whatever went down on the esplanade would be all over and done with by the time I ran back. I appreciate I could have just taken a different route, but I guess that's why they call me stubborn. So I leave the bar, walk back over to the esplanade, and begin my jog back towards Beacon Hill. When I started getting closer to the area I was accosted, I noticed that there was still a large group gathered near the spot where I'd almost gotten into trouble. Obviously, I slowed down to a walk, trying to work out if it's the same guys who gave me trouble.

I can't recognize anyone and besides, everyone was leaning over the side of the esplanade looking down into the Charles. Because my head was all fried from running, I couldn't work out if it was the same spot or I was looking at a completely different incident further down or up from the spot I was at. So I walked over, asked somebody what was going on, and found the answer hit me like a ton of bricks. There was a body in the water. No one seemed to know how or when they'd gotten there, but they didn't seem to be conscious. I remember taking another look around just to make sure that I wasn't in the same place. But I was. I was in the exact same spot as I was when I stopped by that group of guys. Like I might have already mentioned, running just makes my brain slow,

so it took me way longer than it should have for the proverbial penny to finally drop. But it did. And I realized that there was a good chance that it was one of the guys that I'd seen that had ended up in the water. Good chance, sure, but I still didn't know for certain. So I tried my best to get a look at the body. I know that seems really creepy of me and it definitely wasn't my proudest moment, but I just had to know. I had to know if someone had died over something that started because of me. I mean, call me crazy, but I just felt so guilty in the moment, especially because I'd

just run off to eat peanuts while someone had potentially lost their life. Whoever was down there was bobbing in the shallow water and combined with how dark it was it made it impossible to discern anything except the shape of the body. From what I heard someone had already called the cops and the relevant people were on their way to deal with it. After that I slipped away without saying anything and it was only the jog and its after effects that kept me from overthinking the whole thing during the rest of my evening. The next morning though, that was a different story. First thing I did was call my son to tell him everything but the main reason was to ask him to use Google to try to find something about what

happened. I wasn't the most computer literate back then and I'm not great with all the more intricate functions so I didn't really know what to plug into Google to make it an accurate enough search. I know that might sound crazy to some of you younger folks but you just gotta wait until you're my age and you need your grandson to help you figure out your new flying car. By the end of the day, my son had sent me three different news pages, each detailing what was known about the body and the Charles. The identity had yet to be established, but two of the sites seemed to confirm that the person had drowned after being knocked unconscious and tossed into the river. Police were urging witnesses to come forward, so that's what I did, partly out of duty and partly out of guilt. I understand that the group of guys in the crazy

box were both looking for trouble and that it wasn't my fault that they'd found it. But when I think of that night, I think of how I just ran away. I feel as if though it was going to be me that ended up floating in the Charles that night, and somehow fate stepped in to stop that from happening. I guess some people might just be happy that it didn't happen to them, but for me, it comes with a real bittersweet kind of feeling. I'm glad it wasn't me, I just wish that it didn't have to be anyone else, either. This is the story of the single most terrifying thing that's ever happened to me. Now for reference, I'm a 39 year old woman and I was 35 at the time this happened. To call me petite would be putting it kindly and as much as I've been working on my weight training over the years, my gains aren't anything to write home about. I was 35 in 2014 and I was living down in Florida at the time to help take care of my grandparents.

Not far from where they live was this big old park, maybe three miles around, and while I lived down there, I used the park as the route for my Sunday jogs. A lot of other folks used the park too, especially on the weekends, so to beat the crowds, I would run early, like very early, like 6.30 in the morning early. I'm not trying to show off, my job has a very early start time too, so that's just my default sleeping pattern anyway. But if I run pretty much any other time of the day, I just don't get the space that I might have otherwise. The only trouble is, being all alone as a female jogger comes with its very own set of problems, as I'm sure you know.

You can avoid most of these by running early morning and never late at night, but as I came to learn, sometimes trouble doesn't sleep. I was about a mile into the run, feeling slightly more tired than usual, which really sucked, but all well. The track I was running on was right next to the road, with the only thing separating the dirt track from the road being a line of sidewalk. There were very few cars on the road given how early on a Sunday it was, so when this beat up looking pickup truck drove past me and honked, it really took the wind out of my sails. I really hate getting cat called or honked at when I'm running, even if it's just guys trying to be nice I guess. I hate to sound like an F and B here, but it is what it is.

I'm in my zone, focusing on my breathing and not tripping over anything. Just don't take me out of my focus. As I said, the guy honked, kept on driving, and I cursed him out in my head as I went. It had been a long time since anything like that had happened, so it just kind of hit a little harder. But I kept running, trying to use the anger to push myself a little harder and just carried on with my morning workout. Then maybe 5-10 minutes later the same truck drives past me again. I heard him before I saw him that time, honking really loud as he drove past me as close to the curve as he could manage. I just broke. I had no idea what the guy's problem was, if he was still loaded from the night before or whatever, but I slowed down, threw up two

middle fingers and just started cussing the guy out. But I swear, the second the first curse left my lips, he slams on his brakes, pulls over, and jumps out to confront me. I couldn't believe it, like I just couldn't believe anyone could be so petty. I pulled out the one headphone I actually use and timed to hear him ask, you got something you want to say to me? I briefly debated on saying yes before giving him a huge chunk of my mind but just from the way the guy was acting I knew this wasn't going to be civil. The guy had spotted a lone female jogger, repeatedly antagonized me, then jumped out of his car, apparently ready to fight a woman, the moment I gave him any pushback. He obviously wasn't playing with a full deck, and then the moment I took a step back, he started to run at me. Breaking into a full sprint to get away from the guy amounted to the most

terrifying few moments of my life. I was convinced that he was going to catch me, completely convinced that at any second I was going to go tumbling to the ground after he tackled me or kicked my legs out from under me. The thought must have been like rocket fuel to my legs because somehow, the guy didn't catch me. And you can bet your butt that he was chasing me though. I could hear him barking all kinds of abuse behind me as I went. There came a point where he sounded audibly out of breath and that spurred me to run even faster knowing that I was going to be able to get away. I don't know if it's some kind of irony or whatever but it always strikes me that although running so early on my own almost got me into trouble, it was all the running I'd done before that which allowed me to get away from the guy.

You'd think there might have been a moment of celebration or something because there was definitely a point where I knew that he wasn't following me anymore. But instead of stopping and calling the cops or something, I just kept running and running until I was completely and utterly spent. When I stopped, my legs felt like jelly, and I basically just collapsed onto a patch of grass, panting heavily and totally in shock. I felt like puking, but I held it down, and then out of nowhere, I saw another jogger running up to the track towards me. I'd run into the park, if that makes sense, so I was no longer exposed to the road the guy was driving on, but I still didn't feel safe.

I still thought the guy's truck was just going to appear out of nowhere, even though that was probably impossible. I think I was still in shock when I told my fellow jogger what had happened and she immediately began to call 911. Then in between talking to the operator she said to me, You're safe now, sweetie. And I just started welling up. Then before I knew it, I was crying in the woman's arms as she talked to 911.

I've never been chased like that. Not by anyone who I really thought was trying to hurt me anyway. I didn't know I could even get that scared, that out of your mind kind of terrified that you can only remember in still frames afterwards, like your brain is trying to block it out. I tried to pull myself together as quickly as I could and for the longest time I lied to myself and others about how much I let it affect me. I stopped running as frequently, confined my cardio to treadmills and ellipticals and it had a terrible effect on my overall fitness.

I didn't change my calorie intake either in fact and I think I ate more due to the stress and trauma like my body's way of stopping it from happening again by making me too unfit to run. Facing the fact that I was hurting became a hurdle all into itself. I didn't want to admit to myself that some random psycho had instilled this terror inside of me, but he had, and as one doctor phrased it, I was, quote, having a perfectly normal reaction to a very abnormal situation. I made some quite large strides in my time before I moved back to Hartford, and I didn't run any kind of long-distance outdoor routes until I got home again. I made some quite large strides in my time before I moved back to Hartford, and I didn't run any kind of long-distance outdoor routes until I got home again.

The cops basically made it clear that, without any kind of ID on the guy, there was nothing they could do about it. And even if they could, they would only be able to book him for threatening behavior or something along those lines. If I'd have chosen to go running around that same park again, there's a chance the exact same thing would have happened again. I guess I'm trailing off the point here and straying into topics that are way too complex for just one person to figure them out. I just hope that one day, lone women can enjoy outdoor exercise without having to think about their safety like that. But I also have a feeling that day won't ever come. Not in my lifetime, anyway. The summer after I graduated high school, my mom helped me get a part-time job at a little diner about four miles from our house.

The pay was a whole lot, and I was putting away almost everything I could in the hopes of buying a second-hand car before the end of the summer. I didn't spend a single cent unless it was necessary, but since my shifts tended to end pretty late, it put me in an awkward position. Spend a chunk of wages on cab fare, which was going to be way higher at that time of night, or I could jog home. Now, I wasn't very athletic at this point, but the need to save money made it a real convenient time to start. So I pulled out some old sports gear, brought them to work with me, then started running home twice or three times a week. It really sucked at first, and a few times in the early days I threw in the towel and took a cab home. But after a while, as it got easier, I started getting a buzz of how much more stamina I was getting. It got to the point where I'd time my runs on my Casio stopwatch, and sometimes I'd make a game of trying to run the fastest time I could.

Part of my route involved cutting through the middle of this big piece of parkland, and I mean right down the middle too, and the first few times, running through there at night was just really creepy. It got less scary as time went by, as the place was mostly deserted by that time, and it wasn't in any gang territory or anything, but even so, I'd take out one of my headphones before running through just to be safe. Then one night, right as I was getting pretty comfortable running through the park, I heard something that turned my blood to ice. I'm about a third of the way through and I hear this ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream coming from somewhere in the darkness.

Because I'd taken out only my right headphone and the sound was coming from my left side, at first I couldn't tell where it was coming from and that made it all the more frightening. I stopped in my tracks, pulled the other headphone out, then just stood there under the streetlight, extremely freaked out. I remember kind of pulling myself together, and telling myself that it was probably just a fox or something, because they make incredibly creepy wails at night sometimes, I'm sure you know. But then right as I start to think about starting up jogging again, I hear the same scream, only this time, I can pinpoint where it's coming from. If I'm honest, my gut feeling was telling me to just keep running, because whatever the reason that scream was, it had to be really bad. But at the same time, I knew it was pretty much down to me to do something about it.

It really did feel like fate had singled me out to be like, are you a piece of crap or are you not a piece of crap? And as scared as I was, I chose not to be a piece of crap. I walked off the lit path into the dark, straining my eyes to see where I was going at first. Being under the streetlights had totally ruined any natural night vision that I'd had so when the next big scream came, it was so close that I swear that I almost peed my pants. But by that point, I could actually hear that the scream was coming from someone really young and before long, I spotted a kid just sitting under a tree, completely in the dark, just like breathlessly crying before wailing every so often.

If I had to guess, I'd say that they were maybe 9 or 10 years old, definitely still around elementary school age for sure. I was actually worried about scaring the kid, but he barely reacted at all when I finally asked him where his mom and dad were. He just looked at me, still in tears, and made some gestures that I couldn't figure out. All I could do was just try my best to calm him down and gestures that I couldn't figure out. All I could do was just try my best to calm him down and hope that he wasn't seriously hurt in some way. If he was, he sure as heck wasn't telling me about it and again, I didn't want to have blood on my hands because I didn't get the kid help in time or something. I kept trying to check him for blood and was relieved when I couldn't see anything but that didn't mean that he didn't have like a burst appendix or something.

You see where I'm going with this, internal injuries and whatnot. When I finally get the kid to the point where he can talk to me, I try to break the parents' question down into two parts, seeing if the words mom or dad elicit a better response than just parents. I ask him super slowly, Where is your dad? The kid just shrugs and says, I don't know where my dad is. Then I ask him where his mom is real slow and get this. He says, before totally breaking down into tears again, I don't have a mom anymore. No, in the moment, there was a part of me that thought maybe it was all just some childhood antics.

The kid and the mom had a fight, the kid declared that he was running away, like a lot of kids do at some point. Then he got lost and scared in a dark, creepy park. I started telling him, sure you do buddy, we just need to get you back home so we can sort this whole thing out. He starts shaking his head like no, no, no, no, then breaks into tears again. So I have to work at calming him down all over again. Finally, I get him to a state where I can ask him if he knows where he lives at, and the kid says yeah, he does. I then ask him to show me, and after a little convincing, he gets up, takes my hand and then starts leading me off towards where he lives. The first sign that I realized something was really wrong was when the kid basically led me across the street to his house.

He wasn't lost. And when we got closer to what he claimed was his front door, I saw it was wide open. Right away I'm thinking, uh oh, cause this isn't exactly like taking the kid to the front desk at a supermarket. I have no idea what had happened in that house, and to know that the door being open at like 2am was definitely not a good sign. First thing I do is walk the kid away from the house into a neighbor's place. I was worried that this might freak the kid out more, but he didn't freak out, he just kept on sniffling, probably just in shock at that stage. And this is right after my parents bought me a cell phone too, mainly for emergencies, so

as I'm hammering away at the neighbor's door, I'm also calling 911 to let them know that I thought something really bad had just happened to this poor kid. The neighbor had opened the door, armed by the way, and he had heard the whole exchange with the dispatcher. They got the kid into their house, then totally against what the dispatcher had told me, which was to stay away from the kid's house if there was a suspected violence situation going on, the neighbor comes back out, strapped up, and runs over to the kid's house. I'm telling the guy to stop, knowing that if the cops just show up while he's still inside, he could end up getting shot.

He just told me to tell them that he was inside if they showed up. Like the cops don't just shoot first and ask questions later if someone has a weapon and then just went ahead and crept inside, gun drawn, like he was freaking John Wick or something. I don't know if I was expecting to hear shots or screams or whatever, but like a minute later, the guy came out again, eyes all wide saying, we got two bodies in there, and making comments about how bad it was inside. And that's when I realized that when the kid said, I don't have a mommy anymore, he really meant it. I think he'd actually witnessed whatever had just happened, but was just too messed up to actually say it. After a while, the cops showed up.

I told them what I knew. Then my part was all played out. They were more interested in talking to the neighbor who had gone into the house, just so they could get an idea of the layout. All they did with me was take my name, address, and phone number, just in case they needed to talk to me, as I guess they had what they needed right in front of them. I finished my journey back home, half running, half walking, in a state of shock, that when I got home I was completely exhausted but I couldn't manage to drift off until almost dawn. The adrenaline was bad enough, but when I was wondering what was going to happen to that kid, that got my mind racing over and over.

I remember hearing about it on the news later, but it wasn't like I was calling around all my friends to be like, yo, that was me they were talking about. People found out one way or another, but for a while back then I just didn't want to think about it. It's been years now and the kid must be nearing the age I was when I found him that night. I hope that he's moved past what happened and managed to make a life for himself somehow. But if that kid really did witness his mama getting shot by her boyfriend all before he turned the gun on himself, then I don't know if there's a kid alive who would come back

from seeing something like that. What feels like a lifetime ago now, I was stuck in an abusive, manipulative, and highly toxic relationship. It's a story familiar to many other survivors. The details vary, but at the core, it's always the same. Girl meets boy, boy makes girl happy, girl marries boy, and boy turns out to be a monster. I value honest men, even the jerks among them, because even at their very worst, an honest man will tell you who they are, even if you have to read him through his actions and not his words. But a narcissist, especially one with sociopathic tendencies, is evil enough to know that they have to play at being prince charming right up until you're trapped. And sadly, that was the man I married. Getting into the abusive relationship is the easy part. Getting out is the opposite.

Some women have luck with the police or social services while others just disappear in the night when their abuser is passed out drunk. Some seek refuge with family or friends, but then there's the women who, for whatever reason, don't have any of that. And again, that was me. I'd rather not go into how I ended up alienating almost all of my family and friends over the years and how I thought my ex-husband would improve his behavior if we just moved out of the city and into the middle of bloody nowhere. In reality, that was just another bit of psychological sleight of hand. He didn't want to move to lower his stress levels, he wanted to move so he could completely socially isolate me.

For some victims of abuse, the move to socially isolate them is the final stage before some catastrophic occurrence. By that I mean either her abuser murders her or she kills him in self-defense. 90% of the time it's the former and she ends up just another statistic but in my case I got really lucky. But my good fortune came at someone else's expense and they paid the ultimate price so that I might live. It's something I've struggled with for years and please forgive me if I'm not very liberal with details here but I live in constant fear that my ex will end up tracking me down somehow but I suppose at this point I

should just get on with my story. It started with some routine session of verbal abuse. Whenever I did something that my ex deemed wrong he'd go into one of his moods. I'd had an argument with boyfriends in the past, but they're usually over and done with as quickly as they start, and there's always a bit of kissing and making up at the end. My ex, on the other hand, his anger would come in waves, and what would normally be a minor disagreement among other couples became an entire morning of verbal shellacking. But then this one morning, I made the mistake of talking back, and this earned me a bloody lip, and after smashing a few plates and glasses on his way out, my ex announced that he

was going to pick up our weekly food shop. These runs took an hour at the most, as I came to cherish what little time I had to myself. But that afternoon, an hour came and went and by the time my ex had been gone for three hours, I was really starting to worry. Any sort of change in routine or unexpected event usually spelled trouble for me so as opposed to just enjoying my extended alone time, I felt like a condemned man whose execution loomed at any minute. I remember checking my phone to see if there were any roadworks or traffic jams anywhere in the local area and that's when I saw it. I remember checking my phone to see if there were any roadworks or traffic jams anywhere in the local area and that's when I saw it. There was breaking news on the BBC news app saying that there had been some kind of horrible accident. Then when I checked where, it was only a few miles down the road from our house. As I read through the article, which was only short, it said something about a suspected vehicular assault, which described how a driver had apparently deliberately rammed their car into a group of joggers running alongside the road as they were raising money for charity.

And I just knew. Don't ask me how, but I just knew it was my ex-husband that was responsible. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking in the moment, but it was wishful thinking that came true. The news said the police were still looking for the driver and, as the evening wore on with no sign of my ex, it became more and more obvious that it was him. The confirmation came when the police released details of the car they were looking for. It was the exact make and model my ex drove. And this presented me with something of an opportunity. So I took it. I called the police,

told them I thought it was my husband and that I believed that he'd return home sometime during the night. The police sent a pair of officers over and that was the first time I told anyone about the situation that I was in. Don't ask me why, but I'd spent years hiding the truth from my friends and family, more from my ex-husband's protection than anything else. But then one day, after some freak event, everything he'd built came tumbling down. The police officers stayed with me until about one in the morning when they got word that my ex had finally been arrested. Before they left, they assured me that I could press charges, but that if it was indeed my ex that was responsible, the vehicular assault would take priority. That ended up working for me as his trial for domestic battery took place whilst he was in the prison for the crime he was eventually

convicted of, which as you can guess, attempted murder. The result was that he ended up going to prison for quite some time. Not nearly as long as I think he deserves, but it's still better than nothing. Once he was inside, I got on with claiming my life back. It was a long and arduous process. Even though I was rid of him, he still found a way to carry on making my life unbearable. I had to face friends and family that I hadn't seen in years, some of whom I had very nasty fallings out with, mostly off the back of things my ex had done. I'm still not the person I was before I married him, and I know I'll never really get that kind of innocence back.

The best I can do now is use what I've learned to make sure that I never make that same mistake again. This is the story of how had this big old dog. Now it's not unusual for a dog to get kind of excited when joggers run past them, but it's usually just an innocent, is it time to play kind of reaction. I don't stare at them or run too close but it's not like it's any different from the usual caution people exercise around strange dogs. It's mostly just not to inconvenience their owner by not distracting their pet. So when I see this big dog turn to look at me I start drifting to the opposite side of the path. The lady with the dog had her back to me and was talking to a lady who was sat facing me on a bench. The fact that dog's owner had her back to me was probably

what triggered her dog so badly because the closer I got, the more agitated it seemed to get. I'm not good with dog breeds, but this thing was really big and really shaggy. Like I want to say it was a wolfhound, but I can't be sure and nor am I in the mood to really look it up. So the dog gave off a bark as I got too close and all its owner did was kind of shush it. Then just as I passed it took off after me. I'd kept a side eye on the thing so I knew when to speed up to stay away from its jaws but what I also saw was this huge dog literally dragging its owner with it. That was the only thing that gave me a head start, the fact the dog owners kept a hold of its leash for a few seconds, probably sustaining some nasty injuries

in the process. I mean, she fell hard, and this kind of spinning backwards motion too, so however she landed cannot have been pleasant. Like I said, the dog literally dragged her for a few feet, making this horrible scraping sound that accompanied the woman's scream, but then she let go of the leash. I honestly don't know how I made it to the jungle gym without being bitten. I know the dog got awfully close on more than one occasion but I managed to hop a little fence and climb up a jungle gym before turning around to see it right there on the ground below me. I tried to jump once or twice and I felt myself slipping off this metal dome structure as

I attempted to kick it as it jumped and that's where we both stayed for god knows how long. The dogs just barking at me while I stayed put at the top of the jungle gym. And I swear to god, all it would have taken was one really good jump and scramble from the dog and I'd have been done for. But thankfully the big dumb thing figured that I was like a cat up a tree or something, just unobtainable. The worst thing was how at first, no one did anything to help me. There were other people around, this was a weekend afternoon in a city park, but everyone was either too scared or too concerned with their own business to help.

It literally took a minute or so of me screaming for help before anyone decided to try and grab the dog's collar or something. Most other folks ran straight to the dog's owner who had been dragged and who was still lying on the ground when someone calmed the dog down and I'd gotten away from it. I suppose that was the right call after all. I walked away with just a nasty scare and if I had to guess, the dog's owner either broke a bone or incurred some kind of nasty injury from all that. All in all, it made for one of the single worst days of my life. Not just because of the dog encounter, but because I felt partially responsible for that woman getting hurt. I know I can't control how her dog reacted, and if it was well trained, it wouldn't

have reacted like that at all. But at the same time, I still can't just absolve myself of any responsibility. And that means I now have a very mild case of Sinophobia or fear of dogs. Not so much because of how dangerous they are, but how dangerous they can become in the hands of a lazy or careless owner. My hometown has a kind of bad reputation, and a kind of undeserved one. I don't think I'll name it, and maybe y'all can make a game of guessing which one in the comments, but I don't want to sully its good name any further, so I'm going to keep it anonymous. Maybe my perception of my hometown is slightly colored because I live in a nicer neighborhood. It's diverse, multicultural, all that good stuff, and the crime rate happens to be pretty low, especially for violent crime. Then one summer's evening, I was out running during the golden hour

when I was suddenly struck by just how incredibly beautiful it was. The main part of the regular jogging route ran down one of the old boulevards, sandwiched between two one-way streets in this wide island type deal. There's a cycle track, a track for pedestrians, then flower beds that separate the two. I'd run on either one depending on how busy it was and on this one time I was running on the cycle track right up near the edge of the road. There wasn't all that much traffic, otherwise I wouldn't have been jogging so close to the street and as I was saying earlier, everything looked really pretty. Not just pretty either, peaceful too. Really peaceful and as I soaked it all up while sweating my balls off I thought to myself something like, you know, this place gets a bad rep. I wish more people could see this right here.

They wouldn't be so quick to... My thought was interrupted by the sudden appearance of some total G-ride coming down the street towards me on my right. It was real low to the ground, windows tinted dark, all matte black paint job and it was coming up on me really fast. Then right as I'm noticing how tricked out this thing was, I notice a cop step out from the front yard of one of the houses on my right and throw a spike strip into the street. The G-Ride flew right into it and the bang from the tires was so loud that I heard it over my headphones. And as it spins out of control, it careens right in my direction, mounting the curb and almost smashing right into me. If I hadn't seen the whole thing coming, like if I'd had my back to the whole setup and crash, I'd be typing this story with the angels right now. I then watch as a bunch of cop cars appear with all of them piling out of their trucks and cars to pull guns on the dude as he tried to run away.

Homie just limped out of the car when they finally got the door busted open then some big cop just boom tackles him and puts the cuffs on him. Friends of mine knew who it was as the guy's name was all over social media while his government name was on the news. I'm not all into the gangster stuff though, I'm more Attack on Titan than Chiracology, but after that day I kinda understand why we have that kind of reputation here. Violent crime is a problem all over the country. It's a worldwide problem really, a global problem. It's just here, it had a tendency to just come out of nowhere and happen in places that should really always be safe. I lived in Venice, California, and I was walking home from a friend's house late at night.

I lived just a few blocks away, but I from a friend's house late at night. I lived just a few blocks away but I always felt nervous walking home alone at night. Venice has always been known for its kind of high crime rates and homeless population and I always made sure to carry my pepper spray with me wherever I went. I had no intentions of becoming a victim in the city like the countless other women that I've heard of before and everything seemed fine at first. The walk was short and every now and then I'd pass another person and smile at them. It was late and I was nervous but I tried my absolute best not to show it. I didn't want to seem vulnerable in any way, shape or form.

I was wearing an old backpack that I'd used in high school instead of carrying my purse to try to deter thieves and I made sure to put on clothes that didn't show much of my body. There wasn't such a thing as being too careful to me. And as I was walking, I heard a man's raspy sort of smoker's voice behind me. Excuse me miss, got any spare change? I turned around to see what appeared to be a homeless man. His clothes were torn up with plenty of holes and his eyes seemed to be wild and almost seemed like his thoughts were wandering as he was talking. I just shook my head and told him that I didn't have any money and that I was sorry, but he didn't seem to appreciate that. Come on, just a little bit.

He persisted, his voice growing more aggressive. A pretty girl like you is bound to have at least a few dollars on her. I hated talking to strangers, let alone a person who was apparently as unpredictable as this guy seemed to be. I didn't want to deal with the situation any longer and decided ignoring his statement would be the best option. I didn't want to upset him any further or make things harder on myself by rejecting his request for money again, so I just whispered a quick, I'm sorry, and started to walk faster away from him, trying to put as much distance between us as I possibly could.

The man followed, throwing insults here and there and eventually resorting to making threats. You rich girls always think you're better than us. You're gonna regret this. I can promise you that. I was scared and my heart was pounding in my chest. I quickened my pace even more to the point where I was basically running away from the guy, but he was still following me and surprisingly keeping up with me pretty well. I started to hear him getting closer, and I was terrified that he was going to attack me or hurt me. I reached into my pocket, and I grabbed my pepper spray, ready just in case. I turned around. I pointed it at the man and yelled as loud as I could, leave me alone. I tried to sound brave, but it just came out as

some little squeal. The homeless man just laughed in a way that gave my whole body chills. He took a step closer, and I aimed the pepper spray directly at his face. Don't come any closer, please. I don't want to hurt you. Just leave me alone and I aimed the pepper spray directly at his face. Don't come any closer, please. I don't want to hurt you. Just leave me alone and I'll forget this ever happened. I warned and my voice was shaking, but he didn't seem to listen. He just kept coming and his eyes were just transfixed on me. I hadn't really used it before, but I squeezed the trigger and a burst of pepper spray shot out, hitting him directly in the face. He screamed and buried his face in his hands as he stumbled backwards.

I started to feel tears in my eyes as well but I took that moment to run and my feet pounded against the pavement as I raced back to my apartment. I locked the door behind me. My hands were shaking as I tried to catch my breath. I technically was safe now, but I just couldn't shake the fear that was beginning to creep over me. I knew that I couldn't let the homeless man's insults and threats get to me, but it was hard to ignore the fear that was beginning to gnaw at me, the fear that he would come back and try to hurt me again. I spent the rest of the night lying in bed, just sort of staring at the ceiling.

I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched, that the man was just outside, waiting for me. Now I knew that I should have called the cops right then and there, but I've had issues in the past and unless you're essentially being cooked alive, the cops' response time is just essentially next to never around here. Eventually, days turned into weeks and I started to feel more confident in my life. I started to walk home alone again and I didn't see that guy anywhere. I thought that maybe he had moved to another area and maybe I was safe now, but I was wrong. One night as I was walking home from work I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. I turned around and there he was again, his eyes seemingly blazing with anger,

and it was like that entire night was playing over again in my mind, and it was clear that he'd not moved on from it at all. You think you can get away from me? He yelled and he started to lunge towards me. I let out a scream, reaching for my pepper spray but it wasn't there and I suddenly remembered setting it on the kitchen counter and forgetting to grab it before I went out for the day. I turned to run but he was too fast. He grabbed me, his fingers digging into my skin. I screamed, fighting against him, but he was too strong and his grip was unrelenting. I was screaming, punching, kicking, anything to get the man to

let me go, but nothing was working. And just when I was starting to lose hope of escaping unharmed, I see a police car pull up and two officers jump out, rushing towards us. The homeless man released me and I stumbled backwards as my knees buckled underneath me. The officers were able to apprehend him, taking him into custody and I was finally safe. I sobbed as the officer told me that I would have to make a formal statement, and after that night, I never walked home alone again. I was too traumatized by what had happened. I never forgot that fear, and it stayed with me. A sort of constant reminder of what could happen when you aren't cautious enough of your surroundings, or really the area that you're living in. Sometimes it's just not safe enough to

walk home on your own and there's nothing you can really do about it. The man was charged but received no jail time. I guess the jails in my area were already overpopulated and his charge wasn't a serious one so they informed me that they had to let him free. It didn't make me feel any safer though. Hopefully I'm the last person he ever does that to and no one else has to feel the same fear at the hands of that man. I was walking home from the mall on Valentine's Day, feeling pretty good about my day of shopping and indulging in some much needed me time. The sun was starting to set and the sky was a beautiful shade of pink and orange so I decided to take the long way home to enjoy the peacefulness of the quiet streets and the beauty of the sky above me.

I was 25 and excited to be starting a new job at the coffee shop next to my apartment. I had finally moved out of my parents' house and was beginning to feel like my life was going in the direction I wanted it to. I was listening to music through my earbuds but had this nerve-wracking feeling that something was just off. It's like I could feel someone watching me. Almost like an invisible set of eyes were just locked directly to my every move. My heart began to race and my breathing became shallow as I quickened my pace and I was desperate just to get home. I looked over my shoulder and, of course, there he was. My ex. The one who can get over me and just wouldn't leave me alone. After we broke up almost a year before this he did everything he could to convince me to take him back. At first it was normal stuff like having flowers sent to my home or mailing me sweet letters in the mail. It was romantic and nice

and kind of innocent even but I didn't want to get back together with him so I never responded to any of it. At this point I hadn't seen or heard from him for a couple of months and I thought that he had finally gotten the hint that it was over between us, but apparently not. He was walking about 10 feet behind me and when I looked back at him I could see this sort of sinister look in his eyes. He'd always been a bit creepy but this was some next level stuff. He didn't say a word, he just sort of smiled this horribly disturbing smile. I tried to ignore him and keep walking, but he started following me more closely, getting closer and closer with each step. I turned a corner, hoping to lose him,

but he was still there. And every step that I took, he took the same one only five feet behind me. I started to feel my panic set in. I'd always felt safe walking home alone, but now I felt like I was being hunted or stalked like someone's prey. I pulled out my phone, calling a friend, but she didn't answer. I tried calling my roommate, but still no answer. I was completely alone with no one to help me. I had called the police on him many times before, and the last time they just straight up told me not to call again about him unless it was a life or death situation and I really didn't want to hear about that again. So I started to run, hoping to get to my apartment

building before he caught up with me. I could hear him getting closer and closer with every step and so close that I could even hear his heavy breathing. I was gasping for air and my heart was pounding in my chest, but I knew that I had to keep running. I finally made it to my building and ran inside, but he caught the door and followed me in. I could hear his footsteps echoing down the hall as I ran to my apartment and locked the door behind me once I was safely inside. I was okay. I wanted to scream and cry at the same time, but it wasn't over yet. I tried to calm myself down, but my mind was just racing. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to call the police. I didn't want to make a scene, and I didn't want to draw attention to myself. I just wanted it all to be over. I wanted my ex to be one of those guys

that just moves on when a relationship ends. My roommate found me curled up in a ball in front of the door and asked me what happened. Through tears and hyperventilation, I told her everything. She was horrified and told me that she didn't care what they said the last time that I had called and that she was calling the police, because being chased home by your psycho stalker ex is in fact life or death. Just as she got a hold of the dispatcher, we heard a noise outside the door. I froze, my heart racing. My roommate and I stared at each other with wide eyes, waiting, listening for any noise coming from outside my door. Was he trying to get inside? I grabbed a knife from the kitchen just in case. The noise

stopped and I started to relax a little. My roommate was explaining everything to the dispatcher when suddenly it started again. This time it was louder. It was a loud banging noise but the banging wasn't coming from the door. It was almost like he was stomping around outside the door having a tantrum that he wasn't able to get inside. I'd never experienced that side of him and I never knew that he was capable of doing something like this. Throughout our whole relationship he seemed so normal. The reason we broke up was because he had cheated and I felt like if he was willing to risk our whole relationship for one night with a random woman then our relationship didn't mean much to him to begin with. You'd think that he would have been able to move on by the time this all

happened. I crept up to the door, knife in hand, and peered through the peephole. I couldn't see anyone, but I could hear someone breathing. It sounded like his mouth was pressed against the door like he wanted to hear it. I started to panic again, but my roommate tried her best to calm me down. The police told us to stay inside and keep the door locked until they arrived. They said it would only take around ten minutes for them to get there. We sat on the floor and waited for the police. All the while, I could hear him still breathing on the other side of the door, and I knew that all he wanted was to get inside and do god knows what to me. Finally, the police got there and they arrested my ex. He didn't put up a fight and went with them willingly. They took him away and I was finally able to sort of breathe

a sigh of relief but unfortunately, this sort of fear and panic would stay with me for quite a long time. No matter how much I wanted to or how convenient it would be, I could never get myself to walk home alone again. I never forgot the feeling of being followed and hunted by someone who had supposedly loved me before. I was lucky to make it out alive, but the thought of what could have happened is something I still think about almost every day. I never thought that someone I once loved could turn into a monster. It's important to always trust your instincts. I learned that the hard way and I hope that my story can serve as a warning to others. It serves as a reminder that sometimes love can just turn into an obsession,

and that obsession can turn into something much more dangerous. I don't know what it is about the cold night air that I love so much. Maybe it's because it's the only thing that seems to soothe me. I was only eight years old when my mom began abusing my dad. I know a lot of people will say that he should have just stood up to her and that he's a man and he could have defended himself. But truth be told, he was so in love with my mother, even in her drunken state, that he would rather let her beat him than ever lay a hand on her. Every time my mom got in that altered state, my dad would tell me to go take a walk. It was usually at night and I began to like the quiet, the darkness, and it became my safe place. It was almost like it was the only time I could feel safe and alone, you know? Like no one could ever hurt me. I think

about how for most people, night and darkness has the opposite effect. Most people feel vulnerable and scared, but not me. And that was until one night, and one woman, who stole that from me forever. I was 17 and my mom had just passed away. My dad took it really hard. He may have been in a physically and emotionally abusive relationship with her for 20 years, but there was nothing she could do that would ever make him stop loving her. She never laid a hand on me, so that was never something my dad had to deal with. We had just had her funeral the week before this incident, and as much as I wish I could say her death made me sad, it just didn't. I felt such intense, extreme relief. Not so much for me, but for my dad. Even if he couldn't see the damage

and heartbreak she caused him, I could, and I was glad that it was over. It was a Wednesday night, and I was taking a walk around our neighborhood. I needed some time to think, time to try and rid myself of the guilt of being glad my own mother had died. But the guilt stayed. No matter how much I tried to push it out of my mind, it was there, and something in me finally realized that there was no changing that. I had walked probably somewhere along the line of ten miles. I'd been out for hours, and it was getting pretty late. Or early, it just depends on how you look at it.

It was around three in the morning, and I was pretty tired by that point. The ten miles that I'd walked was mostly in a circle around my house, given it was a pretty large circle but I was grateful that I was only about a mile from home. If I walked fast I could get back in in around 25 minutes. Of course we didn't live in the safest of neighborhoods. We were on the poorer side but we managed the best we could. I was walking around for 10 minutes when I passed by the abandoned Mexican restaurant on the corner of the road. It had closed around 10 years prior due to not being up to code and the plants had grown around it. Most of the windows were broken in and there was a rumor that a bunch of squatters lived inside,

but I never saw any and it didn't matter to me either way. I was just going to mind my own business and if there were people in there and I ever saw them, I'd just look the other way anyways. Well, looking the other way didn't exactly work, you see. As I walked, I watched as a woman crawled out of one of the windows of the restaurant. I have no issue telling it like it is when it comes to her because of what she did to me, and she looked absolutely disgusting. Her face and clothes were covered in dirt and muck, and even though I was only 20 feet away, I swear that I was able to smell her stench from where I was standing. She smelled like she'd been wandering through

the city's sewage tunnels all night, but I looked the other way and continued walking. Around five minutes later, I smelled that stench again, only this time I could tell that it was much closer. I immediately turned around and there she was, standing directly behind me, so close that I began to gag. I don't think she appreciated that very much as she pulled out a knife and pressed it to my stomach. The gagging that had been uncontrollable until then suddenly stopped, and I felt the tip of the knife pierce my skin. I looked down at the knife and my mind went blank. My life had sucked until then, but I didn't want to die. I looked up into her eyes and just found nothing. No sympathy, no remorse for what she was doing. There was nothing there. I did notice however that her

face was covered in sores and wounds. She didn't speak and her face twitched and she moved in a way that made it obvious that she was on some kind of drug or maybe many drugs. She kept the knife pressed to my stomach as I asked her what she wanted and again she said nothing. She used her other hand to pat my jean pockets and felt my wallet. She grabbed it and pulled it out, putting it in her own pocket. Then she pointed at the watch that it was wearing and I took it off and handed it to her. Funny thing is that my wallet had no credit cards and no money and my watch was worth maybe $10 at the most, but I wasn't going to tell her that. I thought since she had

everything she wanted that that would be the end of it, but it wasn't. It was only going to get worse from there. She forced me to walk behind the building and began to touch me in ways that I didn't want to be touched. I tried to resist, but every time I did, she pressed the knife further into my skin until I finally gave up. I laid there as I let her do whatever she wanted to me and when she was done, she got up, took the knife away from my stomach and walked away, like it was nothing, like what she did to me wasn't something that would ruin me for the rest of my life. In the days that followed, I barely left my room. I cried myself to sleep every night and didn't even know if I wanted to

live anymore. I didn't want to tell anyone because I knew that they wouldn't believe me. I mean, I heard about it all the time. A man saying that he had been victimized by a woman and people would laugh and ask why he didn't just fight back or not believe him at all. I didn't want that to happen to me. I didn't want to seem weak. And I just kept everything in. I lost all relationships with friends and family. I just stopped talking all together for some time. And I wanted nothing more than to just tell someone about what happened, but I couldn't think of anyone to tell that that would listen to me and not judge me.

When I was 25 and alone, I met an amazing woman named Kate. She made me feel like I wasn't on my own anymore. Like there was finally a person in my life I could tell anything to, and she would listen and be there for me without any judgment at all. We were together two years before I told her what happened to me. She listened and said nothing as I spoke. When I was finished telling her what happened, I was a mess. I was sobbing and in the most vulnerable state of my life,

and she just held me and told me no matter what that she was there for me. For the next month, we talked about it only when I wanted to and discussed my options for getting help. In the beginning, I wasn't sure about going to the police, but she helped me realize that in doing so, I could probably save other people from my fate. I filed a report, but I didn't have hope. I mostly did it for myself as a form of getting some closure. I had to be sure that it wasn't going to control my life anymore. And over the two years following the police report,

I rekindled my relationship with my father who was overjoyed to hear from me. Unfortunately, they never found the people living inside that Mexican restaurant or that woman. I didn't have my hopes up, but of course a part of me wanted her to pay for the damage that she'd done to me. It was three years ago when Kate and I got married. We have a two-year-old daughter now and life honestly couldn't be better. I don't think about what happened much anymore, but I felt this story was something that I needed to tell. I need other men to know that if you've been through the same thing or something similar, you're not alone. And even though I'm just one man, a new life in the city.

My girlfriend and I had just moved into a small apartment and I was eager to explore a place that I'd never been before. I got to the grocery store to pick up a few things and as I was walking home I was texting my girlfriend about all the cool things I came across on the walk and all the fun stuff that there was for us to do together around the city. I was so preoccupied with my phone that I didn't even realize that I had gotten turned around. I don't know how I was stupid enough to not look where I was going but I was just really excited to tell her about my day and everything I saw. After a while I finally looked up and realized that I had no idea where I was. The streets were empty and the buildings appeared to look abandoned with their doors and windows boarded up. It kind of looked like something out of an apocalyptic video game, The Last of Us. I was starting to feel uneasy and honestly a little scared.

This looked like nothing of the area that I was just walking in not too long ago. I looked at my phone's map and started making my way back in the right direction. I was around four miles from home still and it was getting dark. As I was walking I saw an old car with a taxi sign on top. It was starting to rain and the darkness was engulfing the streets around me, but I still hesitated for a second before getting in. It didn't look like an official taxi and I'd seen way too many true crime shows to trust it, but I just wanted to get home

and the thought of being lost in this unfamiliar place was freaking me out way more than getting in the car. I knocked on the window and the driver rolled it down just a little crack and it was enough for me to ask if he was able to take me where I needed to go. He didn't speak, just nodded a yes in my direction. He unlocked the doors and I got in and told him to drop me off at the gas station near my apartment building and I gave him the address. The driver started the engine and we were off. I still had my maps app open and glanced at it every so often to make sure that we were going in the right direction. Only the further we drove, I noticed that we had started going in the opposite direction of my apartment. I started to get nervous and asked the driver if he could take me home or even just let me out so I could find another ride but he didn't say a word and instead just kept driving.

I started to feel panic set in as the car took me further away from my home. I demanded that the driver let me out and car took me further away from my home. I demanded that the driver let me out and he just sort of chuckled to himself. I tried to open the door but it was locked and didn't have a button to unlock it. It was one of those locks where when the car is locked it retracts into the door and you can't pull it up to unlock it. And I was trapped. I started to feel a cold sweat on my skin as the fear that I was feeling began to fill every inch of my body. The driver drove for what felt like forever, taking me deeper into the outskirts of the city down its darkest, deserted streets.

In reality, we probably only drove for around 30 minutes, but the panic and fear that I was feeling in that car made every second feel like hours. The rain was coming down harder and harder and I could feel the driver's eyes on me through the rearview mirror. He was watching me closely and it was making me even more afraid. I was trapped in that taxi with a stranger who seemed to have no intention of letting me go. The fear and desperation was overwhelming and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't think of a way out. Eventually the taxi pulled off to the side of the road and the driver turned to look at me. He was wearing a black hoodie and his face was littered with the trashiest tattoos I'd ever seen. I almost wanted to laugh for a second and

remembered where I was and decided that that wouldn't be the best idea. I could see a sort of creepy smirk on his face as he spoke to me in a harsh voice. Welcome to your final destination, he said, and I felt a chill run down my spine. I didn't know what to do. I tried to reason with the driver to just let me go and there'd be no harm done, but he wouldn't listen. He just laughed as he got out of the car and walked towards the back door. I didn't even know what to think. I had no idea what he was going to do with me. The driver opened the back door and dragged me out of the car by my jacket. He threw me into the gutter and I hit the ground hard. I was in pain but I was still alive.

I tried to get up and run but he was fast and caught me, tackling me to the ground. He put a knife to my throat and I was on the verge of tears and I tried to scream but nothing came out. Why are you doing this? I asked, my voice shaking, and the driver just laughed saying, why not? I was terrified and I couldn't move. I could feel the cold metal of the knife against my skin. Finally, I was able to muster up a scream loud enough that somehow a group of people nearby were able to hear it. I heard footsteps coming from down the street and thank God that they were getting closer. The man told me to shut up and press the knife harder against my skin. And just when I

thought things were over for me, I heard a voice calling out in the distance. Hey, what's going on here? I looked down the street and only about 50 feet away, a group of people were walking towards us. They were watching us and I realized that the driver was beginning to get nervous. His hands began to shake and he got off of me as fast as he could. He turned and ran away on foot, just leaving his car and me laying there on the street, reeling from what had just happened. The group ran towards me and one of the guys helped me up and put pressure on the wound that I didn't even notice that I had on my neck. They called the police and an ambulance took me to the hospital.

I needed a few stitches for the laceration of my throat but was otherwise physically okay. The police searched the vehicle and realized that it was stolen and there was nothing in it to tie it to the person who had done that to me that night. Now years later, another man was abducted in the same manner in that area, only this time, the man was caught and he was arrested. I was called in due to the correlation in the crime and was able to identify the man as the man who attacked me on that night, and thank God that he was charged and sentenced to seven years in prison. He never admitted to kidnapping anyone else, but we knew that that was probably not true. I tried my best to get over it, but the emotional scars will always be there, along with the physical one on my neck. I'm so grateful to the people who saved me. I'll never forget the fear and desperation that I felt in that taxi,

but I'll also never forget the kindness and bravery of the strangers who risked their lives to help me and make sure that I was okay. From that day on, I made sure to always pay attention to my surroundings and never let my guard down again. It was a beautiful day and I was walking home from the gym. I lived in a quiet neighborhood and never felt unsafe during the day or even at night for that matter. I was kind of just humming to myself enjoying the warm breeze on my skin when I heard a car revving its engine behind me. It was still around 50 feet away but something about it was giving me this really bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Just as I was about to turn back around and continue on my way, the car sped up and its path wasn't leading down the road, it was leading directly towards me. I started to panic and wonder if I was just being paranoid, maybe the driver was having some sort of medical emergency and he wasn't able to control the car.

Either way, it was heading to hit me directly. I jump out of the way, barely avoiding being hit by the car, and the car swerved and then continued down the road. I was breathing heavily and my heart was just racing from the shock. The car was long gone by the time I pulled myself together and I didn't think to memorize the plates so I just decided against calling the police and counting my blessings. I continued walking down the street and after getting a few blocks further I figured that I was in the clear from that psycho that had just tried to end my life. I was grabbing water out of my backpack when I heard the revving of an engine behind me again. I was hoping it wasn't the same guy, but I wasn't that lucky. I glanced behind me and this time, the guy was driving even faster and the car was headed straight for me yet again. I had nowhere to run and I wasn't fast

enough anyways, so I drove out of the way and onto the grass of someone's nearby lawn. The car rushed by me, missing me by inches. I was in shock, wondering what in God's name was going on. Was this some kind of twisted joke? Had I done something to make this guy so mad at me that it was worth ending my life? I quickly got up, grabbed my backpack and started running in the opposite direction. I was running, dialing 911 when I looked back and watched in horror as the car was making a U-turn. I was in a neighborhood so there were no stores I could take shelter in. I was terrified, dodging cars and jumping over fences

in a desperate attempt to escape. I could hear the car getting closer and closer and I knew that I was running out of options. The 911 operator finally picked up the phone and I told them everything. They advised me to try to find a store that I could wait in until they got there, but it was too late. I'd gotten distracted from talking to the dispatcher that I'd stopped running fast enough and didn't realize that the car had caught up to me. And before I knew it, the car hit me from behind and sent me flying into the air. I hit the pavement hard, my head slamming against the concrete. I didn't pass out, but my vision went blurry and my mind went blank until I eventually was completely out. The last thing I remember was the car driving away and the sound of tires screeching.

I don't know how long I was lying there, but eventually someone noticed me and called me for help. I was rushed to the hospital where I was treated for multiple broken bones and internal injuries. I was placed in a medically induced coma for several days and when I finally woke up, I was told that I was lucky to be alive. That most people who came in with those same injuries weren't so lucky. I spoke to law enforcement, and they told me that I was probably involved in a targeted hidden run, just based on the area that I was in. And several months later, after a long road of recovery, and finally being told that it was okay to start walking long distances again, I was walking home from work when I saw the same car,

or at least that I thought was the same car, driving down the road. I felt a wave of fear wash over me, and I immediately started running in the opposite direction. To my utter shock and horror, the car started giving chase again, but this time I was better prepared. I was able to dodge and weave and eventually lost the car. Only after watching the car drive right past me and down another street did I realize that I was imagining it, and that it wasn't even the same car. It was just somebody driving in my direction. I was relieved, but I was also scared. I couldn't understand why

someone had tried to kill me. It had been over seven months, but I thought about it constantly. Was it some kind of vendetta back then? Was it just a random act of violence related to gangs or something? I didn't know, and it was driving me crazy. I became paranoid, always looking over my shoulder and never walking home alone. I was always on guard, always ready to run if I saw the car coming. It was a constant battle in my mind, and I was always exhausted from stress and these terrible dreams. I eventually started to carry pepper spray and a whistle with me, determined to protect myself if the car or the man driving it ever came after me again. And years went by, and I never saw the car again. I started to relax, thinking that maybe the danger was over.

I started to walk home during the day, no longer looking over my shoulder. But then one day, I was walking home from work and I saw the car. It was parked on the side of the road. I froze, the memories of being chased and nearly killed flooding back to me. I quickly realized that the car was empty, but the fear still lingered. I called the police, telling them about my experience in the car and the fact that it was sitting right in front of me. They came and they checked it out but there really was no evidence of foul play and they told me that it was just a coincidence and that I had nothing to worry about and because I had no proof there really was no lead that they could go on. Seeing the car again

took me right back to the way I used to feel. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was still in danger. I was living in fear and it was taking a toll on my mental health. This time, I started seeing a therapist to try to work through my fear and anxiety. I talked about the car and my experiences, trying to make sense of it all. My therapist suggested that I confront my fears and try to find closure. So for days, I mustered up the courage and walked around the city looking for the car. I'm now 99% positive that that isn't what my therapist meant when he told me to find closure, but I was kind of an idiot. And after weeks of looking, I found it.

I took a deep breath and approached the car ready to face my fears head on. As I got closer, I noticed that the model of the car was different from the one I remembered. And I felt a sense of relief wash over me and I realized that this car, again, wasn't the same one that terrorized me all that time ago. Maybe going to confront the guy wasn't the best plan, but realizing that there wasn't anything for me to be scared of anymore gave me this huge sense of relief that I was finally able to live my life normally again. I guess the paranoia still exists, but being able to face my fears should it ever arrive again, I'll to work.

It was a cool autumn night and the city was quiet. Well, as quiet as a city could be. There was the occasional sound of leaves crunching under my feet and horns honking in the distance. I was kind of lost in thought thinking about how I was going to make ends meet and survive in a world that only seemed to be working against me when I heard the sounds of heels clicking against the pavement behind me. I sort of instinctively turned around and saw a woman walking towards me. I tried not to think much of it and continued on my way. I was a relatively large and strong individual and I knew that I could handle my own if I needed to. As I walked, the woman continued to follow me, staying at about a block

behind. I started to feel uneasy and picked up my pace, but she matched it, and I decided to take a different route to try to lose her, but she seemed to know exactly where I was going and continued to follow me. I looked back and saw her face in the shadows. It was pale, almost ghostly, and her eyes were dark and sort of void of any emotion. The more I looked at her the more of a threat she became in my mind. I couldn't help it but I started to feel this paranoia and began running down the street. It was like my feet moved before my brain had even told them to do so. The woman ran after me and and before I knew it, she was only a few feet behind me. Given, I wasn't exactly the quickest runner, but I really felt like I would have been able to outrun

her if need be. But I was scared, and I ran down an alleyway hoping to lose her, but she was still there when I emerged on the other side. I looked back and saw her smile, this wide grin that sort of just gave me goosebumps. I continued running, not knowing where I was going, but I was trying to get away from her. I stumbled into a small park and hid behind a tree and tried to catch my breath. I heard the sound of her heels clicking on the concrete creeping up behind me until she was right beside me. I looked up at her and examined her eyes once again. They were deep and black like before, like pools of darkness that felt like they were looking right through me. She reached out and touched my face, her fingers this sort of ice coldness against my

skin, and I felt paralyzed, unable to move any part of my body as she leaned in and whispered in my ear, you can't run from me. I'll always be here. And with that, she was gone. I looked around for her, but there was no trace of anyone having entered the park recently besides myself. I was alone, but there was no part of me that felt safe. I just knew that she was still out there, watching me, and I could feel it. It felt as real as the feeling of hugging your mom on Christmas morning. It had to be real. I got up off the ground I found myself sitting on and started walking again, trying to get as far away from that park as possible. I walked for what felt like hours until I finally saw my apartment building in the distance. I ran inside and locked the door behind me, leaning against it, trying to catch my breath.

I wasn't tired from the walking, I was just mentally exhausted from the experience. All that mattered was that I was safe, for the moment. But I knew that she was still out there, waiting for me. The next few days were sort of a blur. I was constantly looking over my shoulder, jumping at every sound. I didn't want to leave my apartment, but I had to go to work eventually. I was running out of vacation days. I was a complete mess, and I tried to hide it from my co-workers as best I could. One night after work, I was walking home, and of course, I saw

her again. Only she was standing across the street this time just watching me. My legs did that thing again and I started to run but she was there every time I turned a corner. She was there every time I turned around. I was trapped and I felt like there was no way to escape her. And then just like the last time she was gone. I was relieved but I knew it was only a matter of time before she returned. I couldn't take it anymore. I was scared and I didn't know what else to do, so I went to the police, but of course they didn't believe me. They laughed and told me that I was just imagining things and that I needed to see a doctor. I knew they were wrong,

but I didn't know how to prove it. Days went by without seeing the mysterious and creepy black eyed woman. Then days turned into weeks and I thought that maybe she was gone for good. One night I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep when I heard a soft knocking at my door. I got out of bed and my heart was racing. I slowly approached the door. I didn't know for sure who it could be but I had a feeling that it was her. I looked through the peephole and I saw her standing there, her pale face barely illuminated by the dim light from the hallway. I felt frozen, unable to move.

She continued to knock, softly at first and then more urgently. I was scared, but for some reason felt compelled to open the door. Finally, after mustering up the courage I could find, I opened the door and she was standing there, just as I remembered, with those dark, cold eyes. She smiled at me, that same wide grin, and stepped inside my apartment. I tried to run but she was too quick. She appeared in front of me again and I struggled to find the will to escape her. I stood as still as a statue as she leaned in and whispered in my ear, You can't escape me, she said. I am your destiny. And again, she just disappeared. I was alone in my apartment, but I could feel her presence all around me. I knew that she was

watching me. I wanted to scream, to tell her to come back and tell everyone what she had been doing to me the past few months. For days, I didn't see her again and I felt like I was losing my mind. I was scared to leave my apartment and I was scared to stay inside. A week later, I woke to find her standing at the foot of my bed, watching me, a dark smile on her face. I screamed as loud as I could. I was completely unable to move. It was like she had this power over me. I knew that I needed help so I decided to see a therapist and I explained to her about the woman who had been stalking me and how I felt like she was always there, watching me.

How it all started when I was walking home alone that one night. The therapist listened to me and then recommended that I see a psychologist for a more in-depth evaluation. And after several appointments and tests, the psychologist diagnosed me with schizophrenia. He told me that the woman I'd been seeing and the feelings of being watched were a part of my illness. The feeling that I was being touched by her was what was called a tactile hallucination, and it's when you feel something that isn't there and only exists in your mind. I guess there was a history of it in my family, this mental illness, and they said that it sometimes can be precipitated based on the usage of hallucinogenic drugs, which I did participate in from time to time, I just never expected to have this kind of effect on my mind. I was devastated, and I didn't want to believe that

what I had experienced wasn't real. But over time I came to accept my diagnosis and started taking my medication as prescribed. I thought that I had put that experience behind me and was finally able to move on with my life. However, there were still times when I felt like she was watching me and I would begin to get scared all over again. But then one day, I was walking down the street alone again and I saw her. She was standing across the road, staring at me like she had done so many times before. I felt like I was going to faint and stumble backwards and of course when I looked back she wasn't there. I immediately called my therapist and went to see them. They reassured me that it was just a symptom of my illness and that it was safe.

They told me to continue taking my medication and over time I was able to overcome my fears. I've learned to manage my illness and I live a fulfilling life to the best of my abilities. But even now there are still times when I feel like she's watching me. Times when I see her and even other hallucinations my mind is thought up. I still have some auditory and visual hallucinations. My symptoms are never 100% gone but I try not to do things that trigger them. I just hope that my story will help others who are going through other mental health situations. And it's important to know that you're not alone and that there is help out there. The story I'm about to tell you took place when I was only 15 years old, about 10 years ago. Now for some context, I was raised

by a single mother who worked so much that she really didn't have the time to be concerned about where I was or how long I was out. She always told me to just stay safe and that was it. Maybe she should have cared more though, because what happened to me a decade ago was probably the most dangerous and exciting thing that ever happened in my life, but it's still something I wish that I had never gotten myself involved in at all. I was walking home from school just like every other day, excited to play a new video game my mom had just gotten me the day before my birthday when a strange man approached me. I distinctly remember thinking that he looked like some kind of gangbanger with his shorts sagging super low and his white wife beater tank top soaking with his sweat. He walked beside me and asked me if I wanted to make some money.

I was kind of taken aback and confused and asked what he was talking about. He then proceeded to offer me a large sum of money to deliver a package to a certain address. I think the actual amount of money was something like 200 bucks but to a 15 year old kid, that did sound like a lot of money to me. And the address was in a pretty sketchy part of town, and I was hesitant, but after hearing all the money, it was just too tempting. I stopped to think for a second, but I eventually accepted this guy's offer. I thought that it would be an easy way to make some cash, especially from a stranger. It took me around 45 minutes, but I eventually arrived at the address and had really begun to regret my decision to go through with it. It was some dilapidated house with broken windows and graffiti littering the outer walls.

I was nervous as I approached the door, but I continued to remind myself of the money and did my best to push aside the fear welling up inside me. I knocked on the door as lightly as possible, hoping no one would even hear it and I could just leave the package on the front porch, but no luck. I was greeted by a big burly man with a stern expression on his face. He took the package from me and motioned for me to follow him inside. Everything in my body was telling me not to go inside, but I also felt like something bad would happen if I didn't, like I had no choice. So against any better judgment I may have had, I followed the man inside. Now the inside of the house was even more disgusting than the outside. There were several shady looking men hanging out on the sofa

and I felt like I had walked into a den of thieves like in one of my video games. The man led me to a room and opened the package in front of me. To my horror, it was filled with cash and drugs and other drug paraphernalia. I should have expected it though for where I was. The man turned to me and didn't ask but instead told me, you're going to deliver more packages like this. I was paralyzed with fear. I asked him what would happen if I said no and all he said was that I could say no and find out. It sounded scary enough to me. I was worried about the possible consequences of me denying his request, so I just agreed. And from that day on, I'd stumbled into a world of drugs and violence, and I was already in way over my head.

I tried to tell him I wanted no part in whatever he was doing and that I could find someone else to do it. I had plenty of low-life friends who wouldn't think twice about something like that, but the man didn't want anyone else knowing what they were doing. Something about how one random kid knowing was already too many. The man handed me a duffel bag full of similar sized packages as the one I'd given him. I was given a list of addresses and told to deliver the packages to each one and when I was done, I could come back and get paid. I was terrified, but I really felt like I had no choice. I felt like if I didn't follow their instructions, they would possibly hurt me and maybe even my family. I went from house to house, delivering packages, and I did my best to try to stay out of trouble. I didn't want to be caught carrying what I had in that bag. And days turned into

weeks, and I found myself getting more and more involved in what I was doing and who I was doing it for. I delivered packages every day after doing and who I was doing it for. I delivered packages every day after school and spent most weekends doing the same. More than anything I just wanted to be done with it. I wanted to wake up in my bed and have all of it be some awful nightmare. But it wasn't a nightmare. It was my life and I had to deal with it. I was scared and alone with no one to turn to. I just wanted to

tell my mom but she already worked four jobs just to provide for us and I didn't want to burden her with anything else and I felt helpless. One day around two months in I was delivering a package to a particularly rough part of town when I was stopped by the police. They said that they'd gotten a tip that I may be selling drugs, so they searched my bag and, of course, that's what they found. Drugs and cash. I was immediately arrested, taken to jail, where I faced serious charges and even jail time at my young age.

I told the detectives and my mother everything. They even went to the house that I'd delivered the original package to and had found some druggies there but nothing like the drug den I'd described. My mom eventually got in touch with a lawyer who specialized in these kinds of cases. I guess it wasn't uncommon for teenage boys to get caught up in stuff like that. He helped me turn over evidence to the police that proved that I'd only done these things I did because I felt like my life and the lives of my loved ones were in danger. With his help, I was able to make a deal to turn over every address I had delivered packages to, and in return, I was able to get a reduced sentence and avoid the possibility of jail time. All in all, I spent around six months in juvie, and it was one of the worst experiences of my life. I had a record by the end of it all, and in the span of less than a year, I went from a kid who never got in trouble to one who had been arrested for dealing and delivering illegal narcotics. My mom was disappointed in me, but years passed and she learned to forgive me, and looking back, I realized that it was my own foolishness that got me into that mess.

I should have never accepted that offer to deliver the package and no amount of money should have tempted me enough to do something so stupid. The experience changed me forever. I never forgot about the fear and danger that I faced and I never took my freedom for granted again. I was grateful for the second chance that I was given and I worked hard to turn my life around. I made a vow to never get involved in any illegal activities again and I also made a promise to myself to never be so easily tempted by money again. A part of me doesn't blame myself though. After all, I really was just some stupid kid. Before I begin telling you about the most horrific and brutal nights of my life, I'll begin by saying I am a writer. So the words I use in the detail I add may sound strange or almost like fiction, but I can't really help it at this point. It's the way my brain works whenever I'm writing a story, fiction, or in this case, a true event from my own life. I was only 20 years old, excited

for life and what it would offer me. I was lucky enough that my parents had agreed to pay for my apartment in the city that I was attending university nearby. I had gotten a part-time job at a gym close by, cleaning the equipment. I was always excited for every day because a new day meant that I was closer and closer to the life I had always dreamed of. This particular day was no different. The sun was setting as I made my way down the desolate streets, my feet aching from a long day of standing on my feet, and I had decided to take a different route home, wanting to break the monotony of my daily routine. Little did I know that this decision would lead me down a path of terror, fear, and sheer savagery.

As I walked down the quiet street, still quite a ways away from my house, I heard a low growl, like something was waiting for me in the shadows. I looked around, searching for the source of the sound, but I saw nothing. I hesitated for a bit, wondering if I should go back and walk my usual path, but I decided against it and continued on my way. To my own disappointment, the growls persisted. They were following my every step of the way, never getting quieter or louder. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as a cold sweat broke out of my forehead. My breath was getting caught in my throat and I knew something or someone was following me. As I reached a dirt road the growls grew louder and more sinister and I realized that

something really was following me. I had no other options and could think of nothing else to do so I just broke out into a sprint. My feet slammed against the pavement as I ran for my life. I didn't dare to look back but I could hear the growls getting closer and closer. I was scared, more scared than I'd ever been in my life. And then I heard multiple growls, much louder and more menacing than before. I turned my head, and I saw a pack of stray dogs, their teeth bared and their feet carrying them faster than mine ever could. They had caught up to me and were now chasing me down the street. I screamed, my voice echoing through the empty streets as I ran faster and my legs getting tired from the strain.

It was almost as though I could feel them already at my feet. The dogs were near, the growls now a constant sound in my ears. I couldn't keep this pace up for much longer. My legs were getting weak and I was starting to slow down. I made my way into a neighborhood when my legs finally just gave out, and that's when the dogs took their chance. They jumped on me, biting and gnawing at my flesh. First my legs and then the rest of my body as I fell to the ground in front of them. I screamed in pain, but my voice a mixture of terror and agony. I tried to fight them off, but there were too many of them. I kicked and punched and did everything I could to keep them

away, trying to keep them from mangling my body but I was helpless and totally and completely at the mercy of these wild animals. Just as I thought I was going to black out and those dogs were going to eat me alive, I heard a voice shouting. A man came running out of his house just down the block from where I was laying, waving his arms and shouting at the dogs. They backed off and ran away, and the man helped me up. He told me his name was Jim and that he'd get me to the hospital as quickly as possible. As Jim helped me up, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe I was going to make it out of this alive after all. But just as I started to stand, there was another growl. My heart dropped as I turned to see the pack of dogs. Their demeanor, something I can only describe as demonic. Jim tried to protect me. He stepped in front of me and started shouting and swinging at the dogs, but this time, they were relentless.

They had tasted blood and they wanted more. They circled around us, growling and snarling, their teeth bared, and I could feel my own terror growing as I realized that this was it. This had to be the end. Jim fought bravely. He swung at the dogs with his arms, trying to keep them away from me, but it was no use. There were too many, and they were just too strong. I watched in horror as they jumped on him, tearing at his skin with their teeth. He screamed, a sound that will haunt me forever. I was paralyzed with fear and I couldn't move. I couldn't even scream, and I just watched as the dogs savaged Jim, his body writhing in pain as they tore him apart. I was next and I knew it.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the end. I was preparing myself for what was to come once they were done with Jim when I heard the sound of one of the dogs crying in pain. I opened my eyes and I saw a woman, holding a baseball bat, swinging at the dogs like her life depended on it. She stood over us, bat in hand, as she called for an ambulance. Jim and I were both taken to the hospital where he headed into emergency surgery. I felt extreme guilt in those days recovering to the hospital where he headed into emergency surgery. I felt extreme guilt in those days recovering in the hospital. Jim had only gone outside and faced those dogs to save

my life and he still ended up worse off than I did. As it turns out, the brave woman who had come to both of our rescue was actually Jim's wife, Dove. And before Jim had run out to save me, she had begged him to wait for the police but he was intent on helping me survive this vicious attack. When she noticed that Jim and I were both in imminent danger, she grabbed their son's baseball bat and did what needed to be done. Jim and Dove are heroes. Both of them are my saviors. I'll never forget the sacrifice Jim made for me that night.

He did survive, but he needed multiple skin grafts and has had many cosmetic surgeries over the years. We both kept in touch and have become great friends, and I'll always be grateful to Jim and Dove for saving my life that night. The night that changed my life forever. The world can be a dangerous place, and even the most innocent creatures that you never think about can turn on you in an instant. I live in a major city and currently don't do a lot of driving due to ongoing issues with my car and as of right now, the time that I'm writing this, the pandemic has made me turn to more delivery apps in general. So the other day at around 1pm

I decided to order some lunch after doing a lot of cleaning. I placed the Uber Eats order and found something to watch while I waited for the food. Within a few minutes a driver accepted the order and I noticed right away that the driver, Anthony, was on a bike and didn't have a profile picture or any deliveries on record. At first, I wasn't alarmed at all and I was almost amused, like, oh wow, I guess I'm this person's first ever customer. But then, a full 30 minutes passes with no driver movements on the app and at this point I think maybe something is glitching out or the driver is stuck. I contact support via the chat option and they ended up assigning a new driver because they couldn't reach the first one. It was odd but whatever, I just shrug it off. And now is when it starts getting a little weirder though. The new driver

assigned is in the exact same spot as the original driver and they are also on a bike and also have no profile picture and have no prior deliveries as well and this driver's name was Lori. I let another 20 minutes pass with no driver movement before I message them myself and say, hi there, are there any issues with the order? The app shows that the driver saw the message but I get no response. All this time I'm checking to see if Uber Eats is maybe experiencing issues, none that I could find and at this point, while I'm definitely weirded out, I'm mostly just hungry so I contact support again to request some assistance. They reassign the driver again and

apologize for the inconvenience. Same deal, they also tried to contact the driver but with no response. Finally, the third driver assigned is the exact same scenario. Same spot, on a bike, no profile picture, no prior deliveries. Only this time the name is Robert. And before I can react and go about cancelling the order at this point because I'm tired of dealing with this, he suddenly has my food and immediately messaged me the following, hello, have your food, what's your phone number? And I respond right away with, I'm not super comfortable giving my phone number out when you can just message me here.

And he responded again with, what's your number? Be there in 10. How old are you? And at this point, the alarm bells are going off, and I contact support immediately to have the order cancelled and get further assistance. I get connected to Uber's safety team who informs me that the order has been cancelled. I'll be refunded, and I started taking down the details of the strange interactions. As I'm giving the woman on the phone the info she needs, I'm starting to calm down thinking that this was just some creep or something, and that's when I hear a man's voice at the front door. Miss, I got your food. And I can't even describe the chill that went down my spine because the way he said it. And making things even worse, the Uber safety woman on the

phone with me heard him and as well goes, is that him? We cancelled the order. I poked my head around the door. Main heavy door was open, metal screen door was closed and locked but allowed us to see each other to get a look at him and when he saw me on the phone he went from smiling to looking absolutely furious. He suddenly got right up against the door and kept asking who I was on the phone with and at this point I started asking him to please leave because he's making me uncomfortable and he's getting more and more angry and at this point he starts pounding on my door and grabbing the doorknob while shouting to be let in. The woman on the phone is asking if I'm okay and the man is still shouting

so basically I'm in full meltdown mode at this point and hurriedly close the heavy door to lock it. The man is becoming borderline belligerent as he kicks my door and the woman tells me to call the police. He ended up walking away from the house about a minute after that and back up to the sidewalk and for a moment I thought he, you know, screwed off so I finished my conversation with the Uber safety woman so she could submit the report. Once she submitted it, I called the police and told them what happened. They were incredibly helpful at first, he didn't actually break in or put his hands on me, and they told me if he came back to call again and they would send an officer out. I did end up calling them again and give a full report plus a description

of the man since he didn't end up leaving right away. He stayed in the neighborhood for almost 20 minutes. According to one of my neighbors, after she heard the yelling, she saw the man I described walk back up from my house to the sidewalk and hop into a truck with another man in the passenger seat. And they apparently just sat there staring at people walking by and just being incredibly sketchy. And that's when she walked back towards my house and asked me what happened. Luckily, she was able to give myself and the cop a description of the vehicle and the other man as well. So basically this was a very bizarre and uncomfortable experience and I wanted to share it to maybe see if anyone else has experienced anything like this because honestly

I'm still pretty shaken up and will be avoiding delivery apps for quite a while. This encounter would have happened a little over 10 years ago. I would have been 26 to 27 at the time, but I'm not 100% sure what year this was now. It was sometime between 2011 and 2013, and at the time, I was frequently going out with friends to bars and parties and hanging out until pretty late most weekends. The friend's house that I usually hung out was on a side street just off a main road where a lot of popular and crowded bars and restaurants were. He had to park on the street at his house, and during the weekend when it was busy, it was pretty common to have to park a number of blocks away. The street closer to the bars was pretty nice, but if you went a few blocks in the opposite direction, it got a little sketchier at night.

After a night of hanging out, I had to walk back to my car pretty light, which was parked a number of blocks away towards the slightly sketchier area. This was during the winter, so I was wearing some kind of heavy sweater or pullover and beanie and knit hat. This detail was only important as you couldn't really gather much idea about what I looked like from a distance in the dark, aside from my general height and build. There wasn't much through traffic as you got further away from the bars and the roads were pretty dark without any street lights. As I was walking down the sidewalk, a car started slowly creeping down the street, matching my pace as it pulled up beside me and then stopped. The window of the car rolled down and driving the car was an attractive young woman who said that I looked cold and that I should let her give me a ride to where I was going.

She seemed very friendly. I indicated that I wasn't parked give me a ride to where I was going. She seemed very friendly. I indicated that I wasn't parked very far away and appreciated the offer, but was just going to keep walking. She then tried really hard to convince me to get in the car with her, since it was so quote-unquote cold. No small talk to establish any information about me to make sure I wasn't some weirdo, just me to get in the car pretty aggressively. Based on what I was wearing and how dark it was, there was no way she really could have had much idea about what I actually looked like to possibly find me attractive and even if she did, I don't know many

women who would pick up a male stranger after midnight when they're alone in their car. There were about 10 bars nearby that she could have gone to if she just wanted to pick up a guy. There was no reason I could think of that she would have to resort to driving around offering to pick up strangers. She continued driving alongside me and offered me a ride again which I declined and kept going. I picked up my pace and she eventually drove off. As soon as she was a few blocks away I quickly got to my car and made sure that there was nobody lurking around or close by. The whole scenario just felt off and didn't make sense to me. I asked my friends about it later and all of the women agreed. They wouldn't offer a random

guy a ride at night time in that kind of scenario, even if the guy looked like Ryan Gosling or Channing Tatum. My suspicion is that there was someone laid down in the backseat of the car out of view with a weapon waiting to rob anyone who accepted the ride. I couldn't really figure out any reason that she would be offering rides like that to complete strangers in the middle of the night, as it would be very unsafe for her to just pick up random people. I just assumed that there had to be something nefarious going on in that car and I do wonder what would have happened if anyone just hopped in and went along with her. I'm a retired geoscience professor,

one who's had the pleasure of teaching at several of Europe's most prestigious universities. I've had a long and very satisfying career, mostly in the lecture hall during the twilight of my final tenure, but it wasn't always that way. During my more virile years, I undertook a great deal of field research, predominantly in my chosen field of glaciology. The more astute among you might recognize this to be the study of glaciers, but the word is something of a false friend, in that it encompasses any natural phenomenon that involves ice, frost, or cold temperatures in general. Blame it on my upbringing in sunny Malta, but I've always been fascinated with cold weather climates. I find the landscapes to be so alien and otherworldly, so although I feel much more at home in shorts and a pair of flip-flops,

I'm in my element when visiting far-flung research stations. So back in the early 90s, when Cambridge University offered me the research opportunity of a lifetime, I jumped at the chance. To cut a long story short, the fall of the Soviet Union meant that a lot of strategically placed Arctic research stations had been completely abandoned. The institutions that owned or used them for research were desperate to keep them from falling into disrepair and even more desperate not to lose the valuable data they contained. So when various universities began reaching out and offering to staff or fund their

research stations, they were naturally elated. I was one of the first field researchers given the opportunity and like I said, I jumped at the chance. I was told that I was headed for a research station in Siberia, 30 miles away from any form of civilization. I knew it would be an adventure, but I never anticipated how the whole thing would degenerate into a complete nightmare. The journey out to what was referred to as the Polensky Research Post was the most grueling of my whole career. Hampered by bad weather, broken down bureaucracy, and atrocious infrastructure, what would have been a 12-hour journey to other places took just over 48.

And when I arrived at the research station, I found it was in a far worse state of repair than we had been led to believe. Hardly anything worked, the place was a complete mess and even worse, almost everyone I spoke to said that there was one heck of a snowstorm headed our way. Now this didn't seem like a huge problem right away. The research station's heating systems were functional and were powered by a sturdy looking generator and on top of that there was a much smaller fuel burning backup generator located in a small outhouse type building. Meaning if something did go wrong with the main heating system I could just rely on the backup. I even ran a test on the system, shutting down the larger, cleaner generator to find that the smaller one did indeed function. That was my one big

concern scratched off the list. I could put up with crappy food and no means of washing myself for two weeks or so, but without that heating, there was a chance I'd literally freeze to death. I tried to get as much fieldwork done as possible before the snowstorm hit, figuring that I could search for research files and whatnot while I was stuck indoors. Then on the third day, I watched as the skies started to darken, signaling the imminent arrival of the storm. I didn't have to rush back to the research station, I had already made ample preparations for the coming storm, but seeing it bearing down on me like that was still very intimidating.

I figured that I'd be stuck inside for 24 hours at the minimum, and that it amounted to a great excuse to relax and get cozy for a while. What I didn't expect was one of the most harrowing experiences of my life. After making my way back to the research station, I called a Russian colleague on my satellite phone to let him know that I might be out of contact for a few days. Not so much because of the bad weather, although it might dampen the signal a bit, but more because I wouldn't have anything to report because of the storm. After that, all I had to do was get cozied up, boil up some hot water for a few cups of tea, and settle in to read a book until the wind stopped howling outside the research station. Then, once I was tired enough, I climbed into my sleeping bag on my very comfortable Soviet-era bunk and drifted off to sleep.

I remember waking up to the sound of something rattling in a part of the research station. The place was small, purely functional, just a rumble of iron and insulation, so when that noise started up sometime in the early hours of the morning, it sounded like the whole HAB was rattling. I got out of my sleeping bag, then, when looking for the source of the sound, only to find that it was coming from the HAB's primary generator. Something was malfunctioning, and almost immediately after I set about to fix it, the generator shut down completely. Under any other circumstance, it would have been easy as pie to just walk outside and

switch on the other generator, but with the amount of snow that was coming down, I didn't think that I'd be able to get out at all. And if I did, the speed and thickness of the blizzard outside would make it very difficult to do much of anything. But obviously, I had no choice but to try. It was freeze inside or freeze outside. The doors to the research station's living area, what we usually call the HAB, was always open outwards, not inwards. It basically locks you in if the snows are piled high enough, but it also prevents snow from wedging the door open if you were able to open it inward. A few hours more and I'd have been completely snowed in. But since the generator failed pretty

early, I was able to shove the door open enough to actually get through it. First problem solved, I told myself, and it gave me a little boost, but the confidence only lasted as long as it took for me to look outside. The blizzard was so thick I could barely see three or four feet in front of me, so bad that when I finally ventured outside after laying up as best I could, I couldn't actually see the station's outhouse. I had a rough idea of where it was, but walking off into the blizzard with that seed of doubt germinating in my mind, it was enough to send shivers down my spine.

I consider myself a man of science, but the kind of hope that I harbored that day transcended anything rational or logical. I prayed that I'd see the outline of that little outhouse in front of me, and I promised myself that I'd never take warmth for granted ever again if I was just able to get this generator on, but no matter how far I trudged through the snow, the outhouse didn't appear. There was a brief moment when I started to panic, but I kept myself calm and traced my steps back to the hab, then tried another angle under the assumption I'd been mistaken. That time, a wave of relief washed over me when I finally saw the outhouse come into view, but my heart sank once again when I saw how much snow had piled up around the entrance.

Stay out in the blizzard, and I might be dead from hypothermia within just thirty minutes or so, so each second of clearing that snow away was another closer to death. I clawed the snow away from that outhouse like a man possessed, knowing that I didn't have a moment to spare and thankfully, I was able to pry that door open without completely clearing the way. Once inside, I had to crank up the generator a few times before pressing the large ignition button. This is the same generator I had already tested just days prior, and I found it to be working just fine, so when I got into that shelter, I thought the worst was over. Aside from one more trek back to the hab, I'd be warm,

toasty, and out of danger again. But after revving up the generator and shoving my gloved thumb into that big red ignition button, nothing happened. No rattling, spluttering, or chuttering, just complete silence. And in that moment, I have the distinct memory of thinking, I'm gonna die here. As the wind howled outside the outhouse, I could feel myself getting colder and colder, and with that cold came a distinct kind of drowsiness. I've never had hypothermia before, but I knew that was one of the telltale signs, and it meant that I didn't have long before the icy cold did irreversible damage. I tried and tried and tried again, and in the end, I got the backup generator working. I let out the most pathetic yelp of a victory cry and then trudged back to the hab to warm back up.

I won't lie, once the magnitude of the situation hit me, I got rather emotional when I realized that research trip could have been my last. When I was 11, I'm 40 now, I moved in with my best friend Charlotte and her family. My family and I were not getting on, so Charlotte's mom, Mercy, let me live with them for a few months. I stayed in Charlotte's room and the two of us would get up every day to make our lunches and head off to school. We lived in the nicer part of a poor neighborhood. Mercy worked full time and Charlotte's dad wasn't on the scene. Charlotte's brother Dallas was two years older than us and the self-proclaimed man of the house. He had a whole stack of friends whose home situations were similar to mine, so it wasn't uncommon for the house to be full of teenagers by the time Mercy got home. Dallas' girlfriend lived next door. I never met her, but I remember that there were always people coming and going from her house.

Around this time, Dallas lost his front door keys and we'd started noticing that food was going missing and that things would not be where we thought we'd put them. One day Charlotte and I came home from school and headed to our room to drop our school bags off. We noticed that we each had an envelope on our pillows. At first, both of us thought that Dallas had decided to write us notes about how he thought we were ugly or smelly, harmless big brother type teasing. My envelope had a drawing on the front that I didn't understand. I remember opening it and finding a letter inside. Charlotte passed me her letter. Though the handwriting was messy, the letter told her how pretty she was. We both knew that there was no way these letters were from Dallas, and that being said, I didn't want to

give her mine. The author of mine detailed how they were going to come into my house and do terrible things to me until I was dead. And to ensure that I understood, I realized that the strange picture on the front of my envelope was a crude drawing of a person getting a phallic image shoved down their throat. Terrified, we called Mercy and told her what happened and she in turn called the police. When Dallas came home from school, we took the letters to show him and explained how he found them. He came up to our room to look around and examine our beds and belongings. Dallas called all of his friends over and interrogated them in mom's room with the door

closed. Once he was satisfied that it was none of them, he showed them the letters to see if they recognized anything familiar about them. Then they went out to ask the neighbors if they'd seen or heard anything. They never found out exactly who left the envelopes and the police said that there was nothing they could do. I don't think Charlotte and I slept much for a week or so after. When some of Charlotte's and Dallas' clothes showed up in the washing line at his girlfriend's house, we figured that he must have lost his keys while visiting her, and that someone there had been coming over during the day to eat our food and steal our stuff. We changed the locks and nothing else happened I was so scared and so angry

Every time people went over to her house I wondered if it had been them If they were the one who had snuck into Charlotte's room and delivered those foul letters to us I was so happy when that family moved away The End Just after 1am, I was sat in my living room watching Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, browsing Reddit, the most boring Saturday night ever. And then someone's knocking. I live with my brother and there's a guy who visits him sometimes, so I assumed it was him and just opened the door. And there was a random man in his 40s, looking kinda sus, saying sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm looking

for a taxi place. So I said town center and he kept apologizing, asking if he woke the kids. He's also very close to the door. I don't have any kids, but I said yes, hoping that he'd buzz off. I was scared that if I tried to close the door that he'd push it in. I got so anxious that I started shaking, and he goes about that taxi again and says, can I ask you a question? I got divorced yesterday. You're beautiful. And a car was coming, so I said thanks. You know, I tried to be polite so he wouldn't get angry and aggressive. And shut the door and I just stood by the window to make sure that he was gone. Jesus, how was I so stupid?

It could have ended badly, especially since I live in a shady area and my brother wears headphones all the time so he probably couldn't even hear. Why was he asking about kids? To see if I was alone? And he went in the direction that the car was coming, so I don't know if it was a random car or someone picked him up. Was he a thief or just a drunk and I had the lights on, so he knocked? I really hope that I start thinking before I do stupid stuff like that, again. While on the lam for two and a half years, a Japanese man wanted for the murder of a British woman says he scissored off his lower lip, dug two moles out of his cheek with a box cutter, and gave himself a nose job in an attempt to obscure his identity. The case became one of

Japan's highest profile murders after Hawker's body was found in a dirt-filled bathtub on the balcony of Ichihashi's apartment. When 22-year-old Lindsay Hawker was approached on the train by a young man who asked her to teach him English, she had no idea that hiding behind the innocent facade was an evil sadist. Just four days after the pair agreed to meet for a lesson, the Brit's body was found sprawled in a bloody bathtub filled with soil and sand. The young teacher on a gap year in Tokyo, Japan, had been bound and gagged with plastic ties before being brutally assaulted in a frenzied attack. Her skin was covered in bruises and she had been strangled before she died on March 24th, 2007. When she was found, her hair had been shaved off and her belongings were scattered across the room. Cops quickly identified

the killer as loner Tatsuya Ichihashi, 28, and nine officers surrounded the monster's apartment whilst he was still inside. When Ichihashi realized police were swarming his home, he grabbed his rucksack and, before even putting shoes on, sprinted downstairs in a panic. But what should have been an easy arrest for the cop soon turned to utter panic when the monster came running out of his door. He was then seen again as the chaotic manhunt continued, but evaded cops once more by zigzagging through the street. This would be the closest the evil murderer came to being arrested for over two years. As the nationwide hunt ensued, Ishihashi fled to an island in Okinawa and worked for 14 months at a construction company. He endured grim cosmetic

surgery and deformed his face to try and throw off any suspicions. The vile procedures saw the bloodthirsty individual increase the height of his nose, add a fold to his eyelids, thin his lips, and remove moles on his cheek. He had an obsession with physical fitness and violent manga, a form of Japanese cartoon. Eventually, officers received useful leads from a cosmetic surgery, a construction company employee, and a ferry worker who recognized the killer. They swarmed the area, and finally, on November 10th, 2009, Ichihashi was captured in Osaka whilst trying to board a ferry to Okinawa. For 31 months, the evil beast had evaded any justice for brutally violating and taking the life of the young teacher. Lindsay's distraught family pushed for Ichihashi to be executed through Japan's death penalty procedure.

They were horrified when lawyers successfully argued that he should be kept alive based on the potential for him to reform. On the 21st of July 2011, the Chiba District Court sentenced Ishihashi to life imprisonment for the murder of Lindsay Hawker. A judge at the case, Masaya Hata, said that he was disgusted at the heinous crime. The victim had her dignity violated and life taken away from her while going through unbearable pain. At the age of 22, her future was taken away, he added, but Ishihashi's devastating impact on the Hawker family didn't stop there. He went on to write a book detailing the horrific acts from his prison cell before offering Hawker's horrified mom and dad the royalty money which they refused. It sold over 100,000 copies and was successful in Britain, so much so that the story was made into a film,

I Am Ichihashi, Journal of a Murderer. Today, Ichihashi remains behind bars to serve out the rest of his sentence. I was 16 and picking out something for my prom date. A man who reeked of feces and urine kept looking at me, but hey, it's Walmart, am I right? Anyways, he starts inching closer to me and I greet him with a smile because when I was young I truly believed the world's problems could all be solved through kindness. He started talking to me and asked who I was buying my stuffed animal and chocolate for. He then proceeded to ask me if I've ever been intimate with them and that gave me a little shock and then he started to reach out to grab me and I noticed that there was feces all over his hands and I backed away. I can only imagine the shock that I must have had on my face. He told me how nice I am, then asked if I was a nurse and if I

could go to the bathroom and help him clean up. He smiled at me. His eyes were genuinely terrifying. I had never encountered anything like that before, and I paused and just said, I'm not a nurse, and tried to walk out fast, but still composed. As I turned the ignition, I noticed him jogging towards my car. I never burned out of a parking lot faster in my entire life. I was working on a no-budget film, a really trashy script, weird plot, no redeeming values at all. And toward the end of the production, me and the director were going around getting second unit inserts. We were on 59th Street at 6am on Sunday morning, unloading the camera. We were going up to a penthouse he knew of to get a shot

looking down into Central Park. No one knew about the film other than the production crew and actors. It would never ever have been mentioned in any media. So the director and I are unloading and there's no one around except for one homeless man. He's shuffling along the sidewalk heading in our direction. He's one of the sad mentally ill people that our society refuses to help So his schizophrenia is untreated and he's out on the streets And he's talking to himself non-stop as he comes along When he gets close to us he looks up at us and says And here are these guys that I'm making that movie about

And he proceeds to rattle off the entire plot line as he walks past, as if he were reading the IMDB synopsis. None of our equipment was visible, so there's no way anyone would recognize us as a film crew. The director and I just looked at each other like, what in God's name just happened? A few years ago, I lived in a large apartment complex. My unit was at the very end on the first floor. A lot of strange people lived there, but seemed pretty harmless.

One night my boyfriend was over, thankfully, and we were watching a movie. I noticed a shadow pass by the window, but then I felt like it didn't completely pass by, I guess. At first I started feeling like I'm being watched and too scared to turn and look. I finally look and see the silhouette of a person and a pair of eyes peeking in between the space and the blinds. I told my boyfriend someone was out there and he jumped up and we saw the person's shadow run away. My boyfriend peeks out the window and we assume he ran around the back of the building. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. My boyfriend and I just kind of look at each other because it's like 1am. I told him not to answer it because I don't want to open the door to anyone,

and after a minute of discussion, he's adamant on answering it so I tell him to just at least grab a knife. He opens the door and thought no one was out there. He looked over and saw a man behind a nearby tree doing the come here motion with his hands. We called the cops, and they say they would keep an eye out, but we never heard anything anymore. In the moment, it felt like the legitimate beginning of a scary movie. The End This story occurred a few years back when I was staying in my grandparents' house during vacation. They live near the Atlantic Wall, the system of concrete blockhouses built by Germany during World War II. At the time, I was 16 and fascinated with urbex, so I thought it would be a great idea to go explore these. When I arrived on the beach, I started exploring and

everything went well since this place is actually public and a lot of people come here like you would do normally on any beach. Time passed by and there was nothing really interesting to see, so I made the decision to go deep into the dunes to find other structures. I found some but they were all buried in the sand and covered with vegetation. Until I found the one. I was super excited when I arrived. I started to barge in just like I did before. But suddenly, a gut feeling stopped me at one of the entrances.

I kept quiet and listened. There was this sort of indistinct chatter and moaning. Honestly, I don't know what kept me around after that. For some stupid reason, I chose the option of yelling, Hello, is anyone there? multiple times. The sounds coming from inside stopped and the atmosphere was getting quite tense, so I made my way to the roof. A single ramp, no exit, stupid decision again, but curiosity was just too strong.

A few minutes later, a middle-aged man comes out and started the weirdest discussion with me. He asked me if I was alone and what was my age. I was obviously a minor and then he proceeded to tell me what they were doing inside was perfectly right and I quote-unquote shouldn't call the police without waiting for my answers. At the end of this weird little speech he asked me if I wanted to go inside. Obviously I refused. Thank god he didn't insist and went back in. As I went away I passed by one of the other entrances that happened to provide a direct view of the inside. I took a peek and instantly ran out. What I briefly saw was another old man, naked, touching himself, looking directly at me. In the background I saw many other figures and candles on the ground. I heard some sort of chanting too. After I put enough distance I took

my phone out and then called the police. What I told them was too surreal for them to believe me and I was basically laughed at and given a lecture about prank calls. No one believes me other than my dad. He's had weird encounters in those dunes as well. But in the end, I don't care. I have no idea what was happening down in that bunker. When I was in middle school, I remember taking a basic health class. This must have been fifth grade because we had to watch the infamous video where we learn about our bodies and reproductive organs and had to watch a video of a woman giving birth. I remember asking a female friend of mine an inappropriate question regarding the video that we had just watched while walking in the hallways without realizing the vice principal was an earshot. He called me into his office to scold me until I explained that it was a question revolving around what we had seen in class.

He calmed down and then ended up chatting casually with me. A little too casually. Maybe in an attempt to seem cool and relatable, he explained that he had a tattoo. I asked him what it was and he showed me it was a tattoo of an artistic looking fish on his shoulder. Now even back then, I thought the tattoo was incredibly corny but it was fitting considering the guy was kind of dweeby. He then went on to tell me that the tattoo artist who tattooed him in New Hampshire went on to murder and dismember two women a year later and was sentenced to life in prison. I had no clue why he thought it would be appropriate to share this story with a middle schooler, but I was absolutely shook by the story for the following week and never forgot it. My family owns a boutique in a very big city here in the south. Our boutique is located in a very wealthy neighborhood, but that doesn't say much. If you go not even a mile north, south, or west, or east, you'll enter rough areas of

the city. With that being said, we have a lot of homeless, drug addicts, and sketchy people in our general area and they try to come into our stores. When these people come in, we are also nice, respectful, and treat them just like we would our normal customers. We try not to judge by their appearances. However, we don't tolerate the begging, stealing, or soliciting. So, we've all had our share of weird encounters at our store. However, I think my most recent encounter was the creepiest.

Last week, getting ready to close, I was tidying up the store when a woman came in. I greeted her as normal and everything seemed smooth sailing, I suppose. She was looking around and engaging in conversation about some of our pieces when all of a sudden things changed quickly. The vibe and feeling of the room just felt eerie, so I moved behind the counter to just create a barrier. She began by grabbing one of our candles that has the saying, I love you to the moon and back across the front. I think this is what originally triggered her. She began talking about her family and how she would read the book, I love you to the moon and back to her triplets

that she didn't know that she even had. She then started telling him about her life being married to Ryan Gosling and how she recently killed him because he kept poisoning her and hiding her three sets of triplets and daughter from her. At this point I was just listening. I didn't want to upset her any more than she already was. When she finished, she began walking around the store again, telling me how she just got out of jail for stabbing someone and at this point she gets about four feet from my counter and tilts her head, looks me in the eyes and says, I really feel like chopping you up right now. We were the only two in the store at this time and I was in shock. I had no clue what was about to happen. Up until then she was just rambling, this was the first instance of her

showing aggression. Luckily seconds after that statement another customer, one of our regulars came in and the woman, who just told me that she wanted to chop me up, grabbed her stuff and walked out the door. My regular could feel the tension as I rushed behind her and locked us in the store. I'll never let that person in again. I'm guessing around seven years ago, my older brother and several of his friends went on a camping trip in rural Maine. When they drove up there, they decided to stay in a random motel nearby the skiing trails. He said it looked pretty run down and sketchy, but being college kids at the time, they didn't care much and just wanted a cheap place to sleep for the night. After a day of skiing, they got some drinks at a local bar and headed back to the motel to get

some rest. As they were all hanging out in their motel room, my brother opened up a desk drawer to store some of his things in and what he found inside the drawer made his jaw drop in horror. There was a coiled ethernet cord with dried blood stains all over it. As if this discovery wasn't terrifying enough, about an hour later, all the lights turned off all of a sudden. My brother walked outside and saw that there wasn't a single light on in the motel. He went to the front desk and the guy working there explained that the power had went out. It was night time at this point so everything was completely pitch black. My brother spent the rest of the night awake and scared out of his mind. The power didn't turn back on until the next morning. My brother took a

photo of the bloody ethernet cord but sadly I just texted him asking if he still had the photo and he can't find it on his phone or iCloud. I really wish I could have shared the photo here because it truly is shocking to see and from the look of it I can imagine someone was brutally stabbed and strangled in the room that he was staying in. I also think it's pretty stupid that he didn't call the police and at least fill out a report. This past summer I started hearing a voice when I went into the bathroom. It seemed to be coming from the flat upstairs. At first I thought it was just one of the owners of the place talking from his room since the layout has the main bedroom next to the bathroom and the walls are thin so sound easily goes through.

I thought nothing of it, and plus the voice was accompanied by a new creaking sound as if though they were lying on an old bed, so perhaps he was bedridden and that's why I heard him all the time. But one day I started to worry. Getting out from the shower, I could swear a few of the words I managed to understand seemed directed to my body, but there were so few that I thought I was just being paranoid. See, I wasn't comfortable when I first moved into the house. The second I stepped foot in, I worried about being spied on. No clue

why. There was no reason to think so, but I remembered a movie about someone moving into a house with cameras, and I started to worry. I even jumped right out of bed one night a few years ago because I'd seen a camera at the end of a cable, hanging a few centimeters from my face. It took a while to realize that it had been a dream, so I just thought it was my mind being an idiot. The voice kept coming through the bathroom's roof all through summer, and looking up all I could see was the hole that had been opened right above the toilet to get to a leaking pipe. It had been there for a while, not wanting to waste money on closing it down until I knew for sure the leakage had been patched properly since it

wasn't the first time I had issues with that. All you can see in that hole is brick and cement, a beam and the big pipe taking waste out in the building, and darkness up above where the light can't reach. Nothing weird in there so I was never uneasy to leave it open for a while longer. Until a month or so ago, when, TMI, I was taking a dump under the familiar sound of that voice and creak. I'm fairly constipated and it got worse during summer so I was having trouble when I whispered to myself, damn it, or some close translation

because my native language isn't English to which I immediately heard what felt like a reply, a single word from that all-familiar voice. Push. I looked up in a panic at the hole above me with the exposed pipe, wondering if someone had been looking at me this whole time. I didn't see anything but the voice stopped, the creaking stopped, and everything was quiet. I went to investigate later, phone in hand,

but there was nothing there. I used my phone camera to try to see if a lens gleamed back, but it was all the same as it had always been any time I investigated to look for water. I started wondering if there might be a hole just big enough that someone could fit an endoscopic camera through without arising suspicion, something that could be slipped in and out. There hasn't been a voice or creaking since. It stopped in that instant and I haven't heard it since, a month later. Sometimes I wonder if I didn't hallucinate the whole thing. I never had any in my life, but it was all just so strange. My upstairs neighbors are a bunch of parasitic pieces of crap that have me tortured with constant water leaks, so it wouldn't surprise me if they're also

just a bunch of creepy pervs. When I'm about to share, only a couple people know, but I felt like sharing might be cathartic. Warning, this isn't a pleasant story. When I was in around second grade, my parents got divorced. My father was depressed and my mother started dating. She met a guy and one night she brought him by. He seemed nice enough. He gave me a guitar. And it wasn't long before my mother moved out and my parents sold the house. She took me and my sister and moved in with this new man. I was starting third grade in a new school

with a new guy in my life and my father trying to build himself back up. It wasn't long before this new man started his reign of terror, though. I don't remember what was first. Was it drinking tablespoons of cod liver oil as punishment only to vomit it back up seconds later to have to do it again for making a mess? Was it having to kneel against a wall with books on my head and in my hands with bottle caps under my knees for what felt like hours? Was it having to stand in time out, not even being allowed to go to the bathroom until I soiled myself? My sister was saved by my father but I couldn't leave my mother so the abuse only got worse for me. I think some of the worst abuses I endured were having to sit at the table in my own urine or feces all night long and going to school with no sleep because I wouldn't eat potato

salad or some other food I would gag on. I remember visiting my mother in the hospital as she was vomiting up charcoal that they had pumped into her stomach after she tried to take her own life. I didn't know that at the time, but I do now as an adult and I'm not sure how I feel about that. Am I mad at her for being willing to escape for herself, leaving me with that monster for god knows how long? I wasn't free of him for two years. Two years of nightly torture, two years of standing and urinating myself, two years of fear, two years of vomiting, and two years of pure hell. Even when she left him and took me with her, my mother was broken. I spent a whole year alone in our new apartment every day. I didn't have school, I didn't do anything, and I remember one day my mother was

angry because I left my sister's pogo stick outside and she strangled me on the couch until I nearly passed out. Everything started to fade to black. My life never really became better, just less horrifying. Now fast forward to around 17, 18, I'm at McDonald's with my girlfriend at the time and her brother when I see that man walk in. I don't know for sure that it was him but in that moment I was convinced and began climbing over the table, seething mad ready to kill this man for what he did to me, not assault him but kill him. The two of them held me down and calmed me down until he left and I swear I've seen him other times. The thing is, I don't

know if it was him or any man that looks like him just triggers that reaction. Am I putting his face onto every tall skinny bald man that I see? I don't know. I know this isn't the scariest of stories but it was hell for me so just be, people. There are truly real monsters out there. This story was relayed to me by my younger brother, as when everything went down I was apparently asleep. I think about this every day and I feel so guilty about it. It's not inherently very scary, but I always think about what could day and I feel so guilty about it. It's not inherently very scary, but I always think about what could have happened. Before I begin to tell this story, there needs to be some background details. So when I, a female, was 11 years old, my father abandoned my two younger brothers and my mother. It was a very dark and sad time in our lives. After he left,

everything went downhill from there. We had to move out of our house and into my grandmother's house until my mother could find suitable living for us. We lived with my grandmother for a few years before my mom had saved up enough money to get us housing in a duplex. This duplex was located in not the very best part of town. All the houses surrounding it were just nasty and dilapidated. Specifically, our house was the bottom part of the duplex. The grass surrounding the foundation of the house was dead and gross, and the floors were slanted in certain rooms,

and most importantly to this story, the back door did not shut all the way. The lock and handle was kind of jammed all the time, so it wouldn't close properly. The upper part of this duplex was a one bedroom kind of deal. I only later found out this as an adult that it was used as an adult film studio and illegal substances were transported and exported here. Random people were always coming and going at all hours of the day. The door to this house was around the back of our house

connected to our back porch. But it was all we had at the time and we had to make do. And during this time at our new house my mother was working three jobs to support her three children so she was rarely ever home except very late at night after finishing her night shift. So one night it was just my brothers and I alone. I had gone into the bedroom I shared with my mom and was just playing around on my iPad that I had gotten for Christmas and eventually fell asleep. My younger brothers were in our living room playing on our old Xbox 360. I woke up to my brother shaking me awake and saying that there was a man who had just kicked open our back door and walked into the kitchen. At first I was confused because I hadn't heard anything and I had been asleep during

the whole thing. My brother kept saying to grab my iPad and text my mom so I grabbed it and just texted her a message. My brother then told me that him and my other brother had just been playing video games when they heard a man yelling around the backside of our house and went to the kitchen. He was yelling about some girl needing to open the door or who was going to do something bad. I only found out later that he had confused our house for the house above ours. The man kept yelling for a woman, saying that she owed him money and he wanted it right now. He then proceeded to kick our door, causing it to swing open. He was expecting a lone woman in her house, but was instead met with the confused and shocked faces of two young boys. The man's face dropped along with his gun, and he mumbled a pathetic apology, walked out the door, and closed it on his way. That was essentially all that happened, but thinking back on it as an adult,

I always wondered what could have happened if he had been more of a disturbed person, seeing two young kids alone and decided to ditch his plans of finding the woman who owed him money. I try not to but it still bugs me every time I think about it. We told my mother everything that had happened again after she had come home from work and she called the police. However, I don't recall anything coming of it because the man left on his own will. It's still one of the scariest moments of my troubled childhood. To be continued... I release new videos every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7pm EST. If you get a story, be sure to submit them to my subreddit, r slash let's read official, and maybe even hear your story featured on the next video. And if you want to support me even more, grab early access to all future narrations for

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